


Reach for the Stars

by Valkyrie (Syvenne)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Nu!trek, Star Trek AU, X-men Inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syvenne/pseuds/Valkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earth of the 23rd Century:  The x-gene is coming back!  After being supposedly irrevocably suppressed back in the 21st Century, it’s started reappearing, with isolated cases popping up all over the place.  A school is built in the middle of nowhere, in the rugged Australian outback – a school for these new “mutants”, Homo superior, far from civilisation to protect innocent bystanders from getting hurt by adolescents that aren’t quite in control of their powers yet.</p>
<p>Taking inspiration from the X-Men franchise, Sky High, Zoom Academy, Maximum Ride, AuroraMoon’s challenge, "Western Skies" by Anrui Ukimi on ff.net, and my own superhero fantasies, I give you…</p>
<p>Reach for the Stars</p>
<p> </p>
<p>First fanfic, be nice to me<br/>May take ages to update, given cross-posting from KSArchive, Exams, and other fics that I am writing concurrently.<br/>This will not be your ordinary academy!fic, nor even highschool!fic.  It will start out small.  But the fate of the world will rest in their hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only Logical

**Author's Note:**

> Inspirational Playlist:
> 
> Radioactive, by Imagine Dragons (plot generator)
> 
> Pompeii, by Bastille (HOLYCRAPTHECITYISEXPLODING, deja-vu moments, and secondary plot generator)
> 
> Joy Division, by The Wombats (I-am-so-fucking-happy moments)
> 
> Starfleet, by Two Steps From Hell (the composers of God's iPod - and I'm not even religious)
> 
> Blackheart, by Two Steps From Hell (epic epic epic music)
> 
> Part 10, Standing in Silence, by Rhian Sheehan (Those violins...)
> 
> Enterprising Young Men, from the ST:XI movie soundtrack (for the epic uncovering of their transport, and any other momentous objects/landmarks)
> 
> Ho Hey, by The Lumineers (for moments where the characters feel rejected, and moments where you wonder what might have been)
> 
> Never Let Me Go, by Florence and the Machine (For the scene which will break your heart)
> 
> Demons, by Imagine Dragons 
> 
> On Top of the World, by Imagine Dragons (for that scene in Chapter 8)
> 
> It's Time, by Imagine Dragons (for when the credits roll at the end of the mov-- oh wait, this is a fic)
> 
> Riptide, by Vance Joy (to describe McCoy/Uhura)
> 
> And this list will probably get added to as the fic progresses. :)

**Only Logical**

 

It wasn’t love at first sight.

No, that would have been illogical.

To love someone without knowing anything about them? Madness.

And yet.

There was something about this woman. This human. Something that made his heart ache less.

It was a ridiculous notion. The presence or absence of any one person has no effect on one’s medical condition. It must simply be a lapse in his mental discipline, to feel such psychosomatic effects around this woman.

And yet.

They had met at a diplomatic function on Earth. She was a humble school teacher, sister to a political leader, and thus invited to the event. She had caught his eye from across the room, with her soft brown eyes and long, feathery hair.

It was not illogical to appreciate the physical characteristics of potential mates. Such things were passed down to offspring, and illogical as the notion was, aesthetic characteristics did have an effect on the opinions of others.

They had found themselves next to each other at the buffet table, helping themselves to the offered hors d'oeuvres.

“Try the rolls. They’re spicy,” she had smiled at him.

“I do not partake in the flesh of animals,” he had politely declined.

“Oh, it’s not meat,” her lips quirked in that half-smile again, “It’s tofu. Completely vegetarian. I think it’s made from beans or something,” she shrugged.

“I have not heard of tofu. I will do as you suggest,” Sarek acquiesced with dignity, taking a roll and adding it to his plate, “In return, I suggest you sample the…” he paused for a second, “I believe they are called ‘kebabs’. They are comprised of a fascinating combination of vegetables.”

“Will do,” she gave him a jaunty salute.

She turned away, and Sarek felt the slightest twinge of disappointment. Nothing showed in his demeanour, of course. It would have been poor form to allow any kind of emotion to show.

And yet.

She looked back over her shoulder, catching him watching after her. That half-smile again. She turned back towards him,

“What was your name, by the way?”

“I am Ambassador S'chn T'gai Sarek of Vulcan,” he replied, drawing himself to his full height as he raised his hand in the traditional ta’al. 

She cocked her head to the side slightly, not at all intimidated, “Pleased to meet you, Ambassador. I’m Amanda Grayson. Just a lowly primary school teacher, I’m afraid. Just a little nobody that was invited by a family member, so that the snacks wouldn’t go to waste,” she winked at him.

Sarek was having a slight emotional storm at this point. This woman fascinated him. She was like no other human he had interacted with. Most others had either been intimidated by his status, or of such status themselves that their self-assuredness carried them past any awkward associations. But this woman was, as she said, a school teacher, a low-level public servant. Her confidence was illogical by the unspoken laws of human cultural interactions.

“You are not a ‘nobody’,” he found himself saying, “Those who influence the minds of the young have more power than most.”

She gave him a look that he couldn’t interpret. There was a pause in the conversation, a momentary lull in the dialogue, in which another diplomat inserted himself,

“Ambassador Sarek! I’m sorry to drag you away like this, but could I have a moment?”

Sarek felt a twinge of irritation at the newcomer, but it was illogical to ignore one’s duty. He allowed himself to be drawn away, sparing a second to bid farewell to… Amanda. She nodded goodbye in the Vulcan fashion, slipping a piece of paper into his pocket with an accompanying wink as he walked past her.

Later that night, after the function had ended, he remembered the piece of paper.

He unfolded the small napkin square, to find a comm number written in a cursive flourish.

Amanda Grayson.

Just an ordinary human.

And yet…

He allowed himself a small smile. _Amanda Grayson_.

It was only logical.


	2. The Best of Times and the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Spock intro :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything other than my non-canonical ramblings. Anything and everything that is non-canon to Star Trek is now canon in this AU. Do not complain. It’s canon here.
> 
> Also, I do not condone bullying OR suicide. Both are terrible, terrible things. I hope I handled it ok here. Comment if you think I’m being insensitive or anything.

**The Best of Times and the Worst**

 

The dawn held a slight chill, promising a day that would be cool, for Vulcan. Most would be clothed more warmly than usual, but this temperature was… pleasing to his hybrid nature. A cool breeze gently ruffled his straight, black hair as it swept through the balcony. He could see for kilometres around from this vantage point. His sharp eyes picked out movement in the square below, following the roads and laneways through to the city’s edge, where the sandstone buildings thinned out, and gave way to the hot, red desert, stretching as far as the eye could see, all the way to the horizon where the sun was slowly creeping upwards.

“Good morning, Spock,” a musical voice rang out behind him. He turned his head slightly to greet the newcomer, a woman in her late thirties, with soft brown eyes and feathery hair.

“Good morning, mother,” he bowed his head to her, and turned back to watch the sunrise.

“Happy birthday, Spocket.”

He turned with an eyebrow raised, as his mother produced a thin box, “It is illogical to celebrate the anniversary of my birth.”

She raised an eyebrow in return, “We celebrated my birthday.”

“You are human. It is traditional for humans to celebrate their birthdays.”

“Aha!” His mother pointed her finger at him in victory, “You’re half human!”

Spock titled his head to the side in contemplation. His mother could almost always find loopholes in his arguments.

“Perhaps it would therefore be logical to only celebrate half of my birthdays.”

They had this argument every year since Spock had learned of the Vulcan attitude towards birthdays. He hadn’t celebrated a birthday since he was five, yet that did not stop his mother from trying.

“Well, isn’t that lucky then?” His mother looked positively mischievous now, “We celebrated every one of your birthdays for five years. Then we didn’t for five years. And now you’re eleven.”

His mother had worked him into a hole that he himself had dug. Amused and mildly impressed (neither of which showing upon his face), he yielded to her argument with a slight nod.

“Fantastic! Here, take your present, I have a cake in the oven,” his mother bustled out of the room, a grin stretching her mouth as wide as it would go.

“Fascinating,” Spock murmured as he watched her disappear back into the house. He turned his gaze to the thin box in his hands, covered in glossy black wrapping paper, speckled with silver glitter, and secured with a silver ribbon. He carefully removed the wrappings, setting them aside.

The corners of his mouth turned ever so slightly upwards. She had given him a traditional human chess set, a polished stone checked board which folded at the middle, forming a space inside filled with green felt. Grooves in this felt held beautifully carved wooden chess pieces, intricate in detail and polished to a flawless shine.

It was perfect.

 

The rest of the day passed in bliss; it was a rest period, a month without school, and so his mother endeavoured to spend every minute that she could with him. She baked him a cake (vanilla, of course. One does not give Vulcan children chocolate), she accompanied him to a musical demonstration in the city centre, and showered him with love and smiles in a manner highly improper of a citizen of Vulcan. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was happy.

 

That was when things started going downhill.

 

***

Spock rose early for his first day back at school. He felt… different. Not quite right. Dismissing the feeling with a slight shake of his head, he readied himself for school, dressing in the dark robes of a Vulcan student.

But the feeling persisted. He walked into the kitchen, his head buzzing slightly. All through breakfast, it only got worse and worse. Rising to bid his mother farewell, a wave of dizziness washed over him, making him stumble slightly. Of course, his mother noticed immediately,

“Spock? Are you alright?” She frowned, placing the back of her hand against his forehead, “You feel a little warmer than usual.”

“I am well, mother,” he replied. It was not a lie. He was able to function at optimal levels. He simply felt… odd. His mother looked a little dubious at his statement, but did not question him further.

He almost ran into his father on his way out of the house. That in itself showed he was not paying nearly as much attention as he normally did.

“Spock,” his father nodded in greeting, and with typical Vulcan bluntness asked, “Are you well?”

“I am well, father,” Spock repeated, feeling less confident about that assertion with each passing minute. His father simply nodded in farewell, passing through to the kitchen where his mother was experimenting with little sweets she called ‘macarons’.

School passed in a blur. He answered questions posed to him by the computer in the education pod, responses leaving his mouth with hardly any thought. This subject matter was simple. No need to spend more attention than necessary. 

The bell rang, and he exited the bowl, shoving a few PADDs into his bag. 

“Spock.”

He froze. That voice had become very familiar to him over the last few months. That voice which prodded and poked at his tenuous control, searching for something, anything, which would cause him to break. He slowly straightened, speaking without turning,

“I presume you have prepared new insults for today.” It was not a question.

“Affirmative.”

Spock turned to face his tormentors, three boys ranging between one and three years his senior. No matter what the race, children will be cruel to those who are different. 

“This will be your thirty-fifth attempt to elicit an emotional response from me,” Spock informed them in a cool monotone. He felt a slight twinge of pride in being able to maintain his blank demeanour throughout that day so far, despite the odd sensations.

The Vulcan to the left of the leader spoke in slightly nasal tones, “You are neither Human nor Vulcan and therefore have no place in this universe.”

The third spoke, “Look at his Human eyes. They look sad, do they not?”

By this point, Spock was not feeling well at all. The dizzy spells had gotten worse, and he felt a rising anger towards these bullies. Who were they to say that he didn’t belong in this universe? He existed. He was alive and functioning. He had a right to belong.

“Perhaps an emotional response requires physical stimuli,” the second bully postulated, stepping forward to give him a hard shove, “He is a traitor you know, your father. For marrying her. That Human whore.”

They had crossed a line there. Insulting his mother. That was when he broke.

“Aghh!” Spock cried out, tackling the offending bully to the ground. He pushed him into one of the bowls, sliding down after him. So ferocious was his response, that the two other bullies could only stand there and watch in horror. They hadn’t expected this. They hadn’t expected such a full-blown emotional response. Such violence. Such anger.

 

***

All of the children involved were reprimanded for their actions. Spock’s father was called to the school, where he took one look at his child, with his split lip and green-bruised skin, and sighed.

“They called you a traitor,” Spock protested.

Sarek nodded, sitting calmly on the bench beside him, “Emotions run deep within our race. In many ways, more deeply than in Humans. Logic offers a serenity Humans seldom experience. The control of feelings, so that they do not control you.”

Spock thought over this for a moment, “You suggest that I should be completely Vulcan, and yet you married a Human,” he stated.

“As ambassador to Earth, it is my duty to observe and understand Human behaviour. Marrying your mother was… logical.” Sarek paused momentarily, rubbing his side almost absent-mindedly, “Spock, you are fully capable of deciding your own destiny. The question you face is: which path will you choose? This is something only you can decide.”

Spock nodded, acknowledging his father’s advice. Sarek looked like he was going to say something more, but the moment passed, and he was gone, leaving Spock sitting alone and bruised in the arched hallway.

Slowly, he stood, and made his way towards the outer doors, feet thudding quietly upon the stone-paved floor with a sense of inevitability. There was a small courtyard outside, lined by a low stone wall, overlooking the desert plains. He stood by the edge, eyes closed, feeling the wind wash over him. A piece of tranquillity, a moment of peace. The desert always calmed him, always helped him find his centre.

“Spock.”

His fragile peace shattered instantly.

He turned slowly to face the boy, his bruised, damaged visage mirroring his own.

There was murder in his eyes.

Spock barely had any time to think, let alone react, as the boy lunged towards him, pushing him over the edge.

It was a long way down. The balcony edge grew slowly smaller as he fell, receding into the distance. The wind rushed past his ears, drowning out all sound, even as his vocal chords vibrated at their maximum volume, a scream leaving his lungs that was heard by all above and below.

He closed his eyes, not wanting this to be the end, not wanting to face his death like this.

He didn’t want to die.

Slowly, he became aware that he was no longer falling, no longer screaming. He cracked his eyes open just a little, before they involuntarily widened in shock.

Floating, no, _flying_. Hovering stationary a thousand metres above the ground, a few hundred below the school at the mountain’s peak. He was airborne. He was alive.

Spock couldn’t help it – he grinned, a short laugh escaping his lips. His mirth quickly bubbled away, however, when he turned to the next problem at hand – how to get down? 

Shock threatening to overwhelm him, he clamped down on his emotions, forcing himself to think this through logically. He had no physical apparatus to control his flight, and therefore it must be entirely mental. As such, he should be able to control his flight mentally.

He concentrated on a feeling of _up_ , of rising, of things lighter than air. Slowly, but surely, he started moving upwards.

A few times, he nearly fell back down again, as his concentration faltered, but his Vulcan training proved highly useful in allowing him to keep focus. Eventually, he rose back above the level of the balcony, where a small gathering had amassed.

The looks of shock and awe on the faces of the usually stoic Vulcans almost made him laugh again, but he made sure not to allow anything resembling emotion to show.

The boy who had pushed him had been apprehended, and his mother and father were present. His father looked a little more blank than usual, as if he were in danger of going into shock himself, while his mother’s cheeks were stained with tears.

And they were all staring at him, as if they had seen a ghost.

Spock concentrated on moving himself forward, intending on setting himself gently upon the ground, but not quite having that level of control yet. He dropped the half-metre to the ground, landing on his hands and knees.

“Spock!” His mother was the first to break the shocked silence, as she ran up to him, holding him in an entirely inappropriate (yet not entirely unwelcome) embrace.

His father was the next to move, “Spock? What is this?”

His mother answered for him, “Something I should have told you all about years ago.” She stood, holding Spock’s hand in a tight grip, “We should go.”

One of the elder Vulcans stepped forward, hand raised in protest, “This is an unprecedented occurrence, Lady Amanda. We must study his… affliction.”

Amanda gave the Vulcan a hateful glare, just daring him to take her child from her, “It isn’t unprecedented, and it isn’t an affliction. Sarek, Spock. You’re coming with me,” she ordered them both, giving no one room to argue.

No one spoke until they were back in their residence,

“Amanda.” Sarek spoke her name with the weight of all his questions and accusations.

“Sit, both of you. I’ll make us some tea,” Amanda was still forceful, yet more subdued now.

To the tuneful tinkling of mugs and spoons in the other room, Sarek turned to Spock, eyebrow raised.

“Storek pushed me,” Spock stated simply.

Sarek moved to question him further, but Amanda entered the room, shooting him a warning glare. She passed around the tea, giving herself time to think.

“I’m sure by now, you know that Spock isn’t ordinary. Even by what was expected for a Human-Vulcan hybrid,” she sipped her tea, “Thing is, I’m not exactly normal either.

“A few centuries back, in the early twenty-first century, a new kind of human started appearing. The next stage in human evolution – _Homo superior_. These humans had an active X-gene, and were called ‘mutants’ by the majority of the world. There were so many that didn’t even know they belonged to this group. So many,” she paused,

“The X-gene manifested itself in many different forms – every single ‘mutant’ was unique. Some were more powerful than others, so powerful and so discriminated against, that they tried to overturn the human governments, tried to take the Earth for themselves, with plans of exterminating the rest, killing off the ‘unevolved’ humans. The humans fought back, using one of their own against them. A little boy, with the ability to nullify the mutants’ abilities, to deactivate the X-gene.

“Fearful of the uprising _Homo superior_ , the governments of the world produced their ‘cure’ en masse, leaking it into their water supplies. Within a few short decades, the X-gene was wiped out, all carriers either deactivated or killed.

“Two hundred years later, and that cure isn’t looking so permanent anymore. A combination of radiation from space travel, and a whole new alien diet being readily available to humans has resulted in a few isolated cases of active X-genes. I’m one of those cases,” she smiled, “And it looks like Spock is too.”

Both males stared at her in silence, absorbing this information. Spock felt like he was definitely going into shock. Sarek lifted his gaze to Amanda, a question in his eyes.

“My abilities?” She responded to Sarek’s unspoken question, “Well, I have a little bit of telekinesis, and, well… healing. I can’t quite cure diseases or anything, but I can slow the progression of terminal illness.”

“Including my degenerative heart condition,” Sarek concluded. The doctors had predicted that he would die years ago, and yet here he was, still breathing. Because of her?

“What about me?” Spock asked in a very small voice.

Amanda smiled, a touch of pride colouring her voice, “You can fly. You’ll probably be able to do even more things in the future, as you grow up. You will be amazing, I can tell.”

Spock blushed slightly under her praise, ear tips turning green. He loved his mother, and he appreciated her support, but this was just one more thing to set him apart, one more thing to be teased about, to be ostracised over. At least he could escape now. Escape the immediate torment. But for how long?

 

***

 

Spock’s life changed forever after that day. In some ways, it was very much the same – the daily torment, the harsh words and exclusion. He made sure to never again lose his temper in their presence, to hold it in until he reached the safety and privacy of his own rooms. He strived to achieve, to become better than all those who allowed their petty hatred to dictate their actions. He became top of his class, and held his emotions in an iron fist.

But it wasn’t enough.

By the time he was twelve, T’Pring had dissolved their betrothal, unwilling to be bonded to a freak.

Sarek’s condition worsened, to the point where he couldn’t leave his bed anymore. He attempted to continue his work via commlink, but eventually even that proved too strenuous.

When Spock was fourteen, his father’s heart stopped beating.

The torment grew even worse now that Spock’s father wasn’t there to reprimand the children’s parents for their lack of control. The empty space left by his father’s departure ached with a sharp intensity. He could hardly bear it anymore.

And so he wouldn’t.

At age fifteen, Spock attempted suicide. He took one of the ceremonial blades from its place on the wall, and slit his skin, cut the veins and arteries that pumped with green blood, spilling out onto the stone floor. His mother found him unconscious on the ground, life hanging by a thread. She was able to get him to the hospital just in time. Any longer, and he really would have died.

That was the final straw for his mother. That was the moment she discovered how bad the bullying really was.

She had been contacted the week before, by a civilian organisation on Earth. They knew she had an active X-gene. They knew she had a child.

They had built a school, far from civilisation, in the middle of the Australian desert. A school for those born with the X-gene. If she had been unsure before, there was no doubt in her mind now. As soon as Spock was released from hospital, she told him to pack his things. They were moving to Earth.


	3. Hell's Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some coarse language. Don’t read if you don’t wanna.
> 
> Also, Jim’s dad just died in the line of duty. He still sacrificed himself to save his crew, but this was just plain old negotiations with a hostile force. It’s the kind of thing that you get the feeling happens all the time in the Star Trek universe, except for the fact that the main characters seem to be just a touch immortal.
> 
> For those who aren’t as familiar with the X-Men franchise, it is common within that universe for the ‘mutant’ abilities to emerge during adolescence, when placed under physical or emotional stress (anything from fear to extreme physical exertion to experiencing great arousal – it’s related to hormones or something).
> 
> Also, much credit goes to Anrui Ukimi, the author of Western Skies. I swear, I only appropriated the scene for non-commercial purposes. And things will turn out completely different. Here’s the link to the original fic: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5485844/1/Western-Skies It is pretty damn epic, if I do say so myself.
> 
> Also, that house? In the Nullarbor? -31.680264, 126.264110 Fucking middle of nowhere. I found it purely by chance. No idea whose house that is, but hey, in the 23rd Century it could have all the luxuries, if you had the money.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Unbeta'd as of yet.
> 
> I own nothing except my original ideas, and a small piece of Australia.

**Hell’s Angel**

 

Accelerator.

Clutch.

Gear stick.

Brake?  Who needs a brake?

The console chirped, connecting a call,

“Hey, are you out of your mind? That car's an antique. You think you can get away with this just 'cause your mother's off-planet? You get your ass back home, now! You live in my house, buddy. You live in my house and that's my car. You get one scratch on that car and I'm going to whip your a--”

Jim cut off his stepfather’s rant, turning up the music.  It wasn’t his car.  It was his dad’s.  Frank had no right to it.  But who was he, huh?  Just some kid?  No right to his dad’s stuff?

Well, if he couldn’t have it, Frank sure as hell wasn’t gonna have it either.

He sped down the long, dusty road, pushing the old Corvette as fast as it could go, feeling the wind rush in his hair.  The retractable roof has been long lost to the wind, blown away in his rush to get it off.  The sky was wide and blue above his head, the sun was warm, and the road was long.

 _This_  was living.

He sped past his brother on the highway, well on his way to a new life.  Well, Sam might be able to abandon the farm, abandon him, but Jim had no chance in hell of surviving out on his own.  He was only nine, to Sam’s fourteen.  So fuck him then.  Let him run away.

He pushed the car faster, much, much faster than was legal. 

So it probably shouldn’t have been at all surprising when he heard sirens behind him.

“Citizen.  Pull over.”  Damn robocops on their damn hoverbikes.

Jim saw a turning coming up, and spun into it, barely slowing down, tilting up momentarily onto two wheels.  He shot off down the dirt road, crashing through a fence.

The quarry.

What a perfect place to park the car.

He accelerated towards the cliff’s edge, and time seemed to slow down.

It would be so easy.  So  _fucking_  easy, to just follow the car off the cliff.  Who would miss him?  Sam wouldn’t.  He probably wouldn’t see Jim again, even if he did survive this.  Frank?  Ha – Frank wanted him dead anyway.  He was just a nuisance to the man.  Mum wouldn’t miss him.  She was hardly home anyway, always in space.  He reminded her too much of his dead father, the fucking hero. 

His father.

Jim hit the brake metres before the edge, throwing on the parking brake, sending the car into a slide.  He leapt from the car just as it went over, almost sliding off the edge with it. 

_An object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force._

He scrabbled at the edge of the cliff, grasping for a handhold.  He was left hanging, holding on to the cliff’s edge for dear life.  He couldn’t betray what his father had died to give him.  He couldn’t betray his father’s memory like that.

So he pulled himself back up, collapsing in a heap on the hard, flat ground, coughing up the sand and dust he’d inhaled.

The robocop that had followed him rode up, stepping off his hoverbike.  Jim stood to face him, head raised in defiance, “Is there a problem, officer?”

The robot tilted its head to the side, no doubt recording the entire dialogue, “Citizen, what is your name?”

Jim held his head up high, hands and legs moving into the parade rest stance,

“My name is James Tiberius Kirk.”

 

***

Frank never stopped harassing him.  But Jim never put any serious thought into retaliation – he beat him, hurt him physically and mentally, broke his bones and spirit, but Jim never considered it.

Until that one night, that night after his twelfth birthday.  His mother had come home briefly, one short visit.  It was all she could bear.  She felt guilty for never being there for her son, but she just couldn’t bear to see that face that looked so much like the ghostly memories that haunted her.

One little present, that turned out to be something special – a pendant, decorative-looking, but she had paid enough attention to his criminal record and aptitude scores to know some of his hobbies – a tiny data chip hidden in a pendant, a decorative device with terabytes of storage, which held some of their most precious memories.

There were photos and videos.  Images of his father, his mother, Sam as a little toddler, and him as a round bump in his mother’s stomach.

He hated her for reminding him of what he could never have.

But he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.

He kept it hanging next to his heart, an ever present, painful reminder of what was taken away from him, when his father died in the line of duty.  A reminder of what could be, and what never was.

Plus, there were access codes and stuff.  And a copy of his mother’s will, all official and security-sealed for authenticity.  Turns out that she thought if she was going to go the way of her late husband, she trusted Jim more than Frank with the farm and family funds.

She had given him a tearful hug goodbye, and Frank had stood next to him as they waved her off, a paternal hand resting on his shoulder.  A hand which tightened into a crushing grip as soon as his mother was out of sight.

“Where is it?”  Frank hissed in his ear as they went back inside, “I know she gave you those access codes – where are they?”

“Fucking nowhere you’ll ever find them,” Jim retorted, sticking his tongue out childishly.  He couldn’t help but provoke this man.  It came from his very core, the urge to reject undeserved authority over himself. 

“Give it to me!”  Frank slammed him against the wall, fist against his face, breaking Jim’s nose.

“No!”  Jim wriggled from his grasp, dodging between the man’s legs, and running for his life.

His dad was dead.  Sam was gone.  Mum had given him her will – she thought she was going to die. 

He had nothing left to lose, right?  Nothing to stop him from doing it, finally.

Jim ran up the stairs, legs pumping as fast as he could push them, two, three steps at a time, air gasping raggedly in and out of his lungs as he dripped blood onto the wooden flooring.  His room was three floors up, and he had barely any head start, but somehow Jim managed to get to his room before Frank caught him.  He slammed his door closed, diving under his bed, clawing at the floorboards to find the thing he’d hidden there – an antique .357 Magnum, originally a jammed-up paperweight, but now all cleaned, operational, and  _loaded_.

He scrambled out the other side of the bed, putting it between him and the door, just as Frank burst through.  He didn’t even see the gleaming silver object held in Jim’s trembling hands, just charging across the room towards him.

He barely heard the shot, the blast ringing through the small space, momentarily deafening Jim.

He barely knew what was happening, as the bullet tore its way through the side of his head, just above the ear.

He barely realised that he’d been shot, right before he collapsed, unconscious upon the ground.

It wasn’t a killing shot.  But it might as well have been.

 

Winona came back an hour later.  She’d forgotten her ID, left it in the kitchen.  She entered the house, to see destruction – upturned tables, smashed glass, magazines swept onto the floor.  She followed the trail of blood up the stairs, into Jim’s room, the door hanging by only one hinge.

Jim was there, huddled in the corner, trembling, his hands still locked in a dead man’s grip around the gun.  Frank was lying in the middle of the floor, unconscious in a pool of his own blood.

She gently tugged the revolver from Jim’s hands, gathering him into a desperate embrace as he blinked back into reality.  The ambulance arrived half an hour later, to take them all to the hospital. 

Frank was put into an induced coma, while the doctors tried to determine the extent of his brain damage.

Jim, despite having his own blood spattered across his face and clothes, didn’t have a scratch on him.  No bruises, lacerations, or broken bones of any kind.  His nose showed signs of being only recently healed, the collagen bonds in the cartilage strengthening with a speed the doctors had never witnessed before.

One nurse handed him a glass of water as he sat trembling on the bed, refusing to speak a word to anyone.  He grasped it with such force that it shattered beneath his grip, cutting deep into his palm.  The nurse tutted gently, familiar with trauma patients.  Jim was exhibiting all the symptoms of going into shock.  But when the blood was cleaned… nothing.  No signs of any cuts or damage of any kind.

Jim took this as validation for everything Frank had ever said.  He was a freak.  A smart-mouthed, good-for-nothing freak of nature, who had no place in society.

Winona sat in the seat next to his bed the entire time.  She never let go of his hand.

The next week, she resigned from Starfleet.  Jim was the only family she had left now.  She couldn’t lose him too.

 

***

Two years later, not too long after he turned fourteen, Jim’s life grew even more complicated.

“Aghh!”

Winona’s head snapped upwards as the sound of pained yells reached her.  It was late, past midnight, and she was up working in the downstairs study.  Jim had gone to bed hours before, uncharacteristically early, complaining of a headache and an itchy back.

And now he was screaming.

“ _Aaaghh!_ ”

“Jim?  Jimmy, are you okay?”  Winona left her computer, running towards the staircase.  She hadn’t the slightest clue what was happening, but she knew it couldn’t be good.  She leapt up the stairs, dashing headlong into his room.

Jim was there, writhing on the floor, flecks of blood staining the floor and walls around him.  And his back… Emerging from his back were two small  _wings_ , wings each about a metre and a half long, feathers all matted with gore.

Winona couldn’t move.  She couldn’t make a sound.  She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.  He had  _wings_.  They had pushed their way out of his back, tearing skin and flesh as they made their existence known.  She’d always known Jimmy was special.  He was a star child, born in the great black void, but she never realised how special he really was.  When he was twelve, when he’d tried to shoot Frank, all the evidence of their scuffle – he’d just healed right up.  All his scratches and bruises ever since, gone in seconds.  They’d had to dash to hospital a couple of times, when a bone had set wrong.  But this… this was a whole new level of special.  This was beyond belief.

Jimmy was an angel.

“ _Jimmy?_ ”  She eventually managed to squeak.

He was an angel.

Oh my god.

 _An angel_.

Jim’s head spun around at her voice, eyes glazed over in pain.  He saw her huddling in fear by the door, completely unable to do anything other than stare at him with boggling eyes, trembling in shock and fear.

And it hurt.

“I – I think I n-need to call someone…” Winona whispered, disappearing back through his door.  She stumbled back down the staircase, holding onto the wall for support as she tried to calm herself down.   _Jimmy, oh Jimmy, my little angel…_

She grabbed her comm unit from the table, shaking hands barely able to key in the right number.  It rang, and rang.  She was almost about to give up, when finally there was a click, and the call connected,

“Who the hell is calling me at this god-awful hour?”  A voice croaked through the phone, heavy with exhaustion.  Winona glanced at the chronometer on the wall – 3am.  Right.

“Chris?  It – It’s me, Winona.”

“Winona?  Kirk?  God, I haven’t heard from you in years.  What’s wrong?  Are you alright?”  Christopher Pike could hear the tremble in Winona’s voice, immediately knowing that something wasn’t right.

“No, no, I’m fine.  Chris… It’s Jimmy.  Oh god, it’s  _Jimmy_.”

“Winona?  Just calm down, tell me what’s wrong.”  There was a rustling sound through the comm link, as Pike got out of bed.

“I… I don’t know, Chris.  It’s not right.   _He’s_  not right.  I – I always knew he was special, you know.  He was always so smart.  So willing to help.  But this… Oh god, Jimmy, my little  _angel_.”  The last word dripped through the link like a curse, like some kind of profanity.

“Winona, don’t do anything, you hear me?  Just stay right there, I’m coming to you,” Pike sounded much more urgent now, the rustling more insistent as he dressed and exited his house.

Winona didn’t need much encouraging.  She had no desire to go back upstairs, to see those eyes showing her all of his pain and agony, the blood, oh god, the  _blood_ , and those  _wings_ …

“Winona, just hang in there.  Talk to me, please.  Why’d you call me?  We haven’t spoken in years, why now?”

“I – I don’t know, Chris.  I don’t have anybody left.  Jim’s all I’ve got.  He’s beautiful, Chris.  He’s my little  _angel_.”

Pike really didn’t like the way she said that word.  He knew this wouldn’t end well if he couldn’t get there soon, “Just keep talking, Winona, I’m coming.  Just give me an hour, it’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I thought you’d be able to help.  You know, you were always special too.  Not the way Jimmy’s special.  But you always _knew_  things, things that you shouldn’t have been able to know.  You knew when I was pregnant with Jimmy, when even I didn’t know I was pregnant yet.  I – can you help us?  Help him?”

Winona’s voice had taken on a desperate tone now, pleading,  _begging_  Pike to help her, to help Jimmy. 

 

He kept her talking the whole trip, made sure she didn’t do anything rash.  She eventually started to calm down after about half an hour, but she seemed a little disorientated – she sounded far away from the receiver, as if she were on the other side of the room, and she asked him if he wanted a cup of tea.  He laughed, told her sure, he’d be there soon.

Pike pulled up close to the house – he had no idea how he’d managed to remember the way, after so many years.  He’d dashed to the nearest terminal, just managing to board a flight to the Starfleet Riverside Shipyards, and had borrowed someone’s car in order to get here.

Old memories shifted beneath his conscious thoughts, floating towards the light of the reality in front of him.  The house had barely changed.  He had never really known Winona that well, but he’d gotten somewhat familiar with her through his friendship with George.  He had been the one to comfort her at George’s funeral, held her steady as she cried into his shoulder, listening to the baby wail in its stroller.  It was a cold, stormy day.  Those kinds of days always were.

He knocked on the door with more than a little apprehension.  It was true, he knew things he shouldn’t know,  _couldn’t_ know.  He’d read the science papers.  He knew about the X-gene.  He’d gotten himself tested.

And he knew, he could feel it, this had something to do with it as well.  Whatever had happened to George’s boy, Winona’s kid, he knew it was going to be one of the more  _physical_  manifestations of the gene.

And it sounded like it was just a little bit more than Winona could handle.

After a few seconds, Winona came to open the door, her face streaked with tears and mascara.

“Oh thank god you’re here!”  Winona flung her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder, “Jimmy, my little Jimmy, he’s not right, he can’t be right, it can’t be real!”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, it’ll be okay,” Pike stroked her hair, trying to comfort her, “Why don’t you show me?  Show me what happened, Winona.”

She nodded silently, and led him through the house, up the stairs to a room on the third floor.  She directed him to a door, but hung back, unwilling to go inside.

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay?  Just hang in there,” Pike gave her shoulder a squeeze, “It’ll all work out, I promise.”

He slowly creaked the door open, not sure what to expect.

Certainly not this.

His eyes widened in shock and awe as he took in the angelic figure standing by the window.  Golden hair and a bare torso silhouetted in the moonlight, a bare torso with one and a half metre long  _wings_  growing out of his back, stained with blood like the walls and floor around him.

“Jim?  It’s me, Chris.  Christopher Pike.  Do you remember me?”

Jim turned to face him, and Pike froze for a moment.  He looked so much like George, but his eyes, his eyes were an almost luminescent blue, clearly visible despite the gloom.

“Lights to 60%.  Jim, how can I help you?”  Pike took a few steps into the room, knowing what he  _didn’t_  need right now was to be treated with fear.

“…Pike?”  Jim looked confused, “Yeah, I think I remember…”  Jim took a step forward, but his knees gave out from underneath him, and he fell to the floor.

“Jim!”  Pike rushed forward to catch him just before he hit the ground.  He tried to prop him upright, slung Jim’s arms across his shoulders, but the boy didn’t seem to have the energy or the willpower to stand.  He was light, far too light for his size.

Pike shifted his grip around Jim’s waist, his arm coming away sticky with blood.  Grimacing, he made a quick decision,

“Come on, Jimmy.  Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

“What’s happening, Mr Pike?  What happened to me?”  Jim was starting to slur his words now.

“I’ll explain when you’re rested, okay Jimbo?  Come on, just down the hall now,” Pike kept up a constant stream of dialogue as he guided him out, shooting Winona a look and nodding at the blood-spattered room as he passed.  Winona nodded – Jim would need rest, without the smell of blood in his nose.

The bathroom was down the end of the hall, a small, white-porcelain tiled space, bare except for a few necessities – a toothbrush, a bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo.  Winona had the other bathroom to herself, the downstairs one joined on to her bedroom.  Pike carefully removed Jim’s stained clothing, taking care not to jostle his still-raw back.  He turned the water on warm, backing the boy into the shower.  Pike had fallen silent minutes ago, and Jim hadn’t said a word since in his room, so they both stood there in the kind of silence wrought by a big shock to the system, a sudden reversal of the status quo. 

“Mr Pike?”  Jim’s voice was so quiet, Pike could only just hear it over the running water.

“Yeah, son?”

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

Pike took a minute to think over that.  True, Jim couldn’t continue on as if nothing had happened.  God, he had bloody great _wings_  sprouting out of his back now.  There was no way they could go unnoticed, not without Jim looking like some kind of deformed hunch-back.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.  Suddenly, he had an idea, “But there’s plenty of places you can go if you don’t feel like you can stay here.  I have a friend in Australia who could help you and your mum – her family owns a great stretch of land in the Nullarbor, in South Australia.  Closest neighbours are fifty kilometres away.  Plenty of room to stretch your… uh…”  He faltered.

“My wings.”

“Yeah.”

They both fell silent again.  This was a huge change for a fourteen year old.  Yeah, kids were resilient, kids could adapt, but Pike could tell that right now, the only reason Jim wasn’t having a full-blown panic attack was because of Pike’s calm handling of the situation.

Pike’s intuition flared up again.  This boy was an empath.  He had little to no evidence for such a thought, but he had long since learnt that his intuition was never wrong.

Pike stopped the shower, drying Jim off.  Now that he could see them in the light, clean and dry, he could fully appreciate what a marvel they were.

Jim’s wings were the same colour as his hair, for the most part, dappled tones of honeyed gold graduating down each limb, ranging from an almost chocolate brown at the top to a pale straw in the tips of the primaries. 

They were beautiful.

Jim looked pretty much dead on his feet, so Pike gently led him back to his room.  Winona wasn’t there, but the small space smelt like bleach, despite the windows being opened wide to air the room.  Jim walked the last few steps unaided, flopping down face-first on the bed, asleep in seconds.  It was good that he could rest.  He’d need to, if this was any indication of what was to come.

Pike made his way down the two flights of stairs, rubbing a hand across his eyes.   _God_  he was tired.  But he knew he wouldn’t be able to get any sleep tonight.

“Chris?”  Winona stuck her head out the sitting room as he passed, “Do you want some tea?”

“Got any coffee?” he countered – if he was going to stay up, he might as well not go around looking all zombified while he was at it.

“Sure, yes, coffee.”  She bustled away into the kitchen, Pike following close behind.

“Here, let me help you with that,” he gently removed the more fragile objects out of her way.  Winona’s hands were still shaking, and she was drawing more and more into herself with every passing minute.

A few minutes later, they were sitting in the front room, nursing hot mugs in their cold hands.

“Why Jimmy?”  Winona finally broke the silence.  Two small words for one unfathomable question.

“Just chance, I guess.  One boy in billions, and he gets to be especially unique.”  Pike paused for a moment, turning his attention inwards, “Though… I get the feeling he’s meant for something great, you know?  Something that reaches far beyond you or me.”

“You mean destiny?  Fate?”  Winona scoffed, “Was it fate then, that he grew up without his father?  That he was tormented for having brains too big for his head?  He’s got a  _criminal record_ , Chris, he’s only fourteen, for Christ’s sake!”

Pike raised his eyebrow at her, knowing better than to get drawn in by her angered tone.  He could say so much about her leaving her children for the stars, leaving them with an abusive, alcoholic man, tell her so many things that were her fault.  But what it really boiled down to was chance.  The  _USS Kelvin_  encountered that hostile ship by chance.  The negotiations failed by chance, one misunderstood motion leading to an all-out battle.  So many escaping shuttles were caught in the firefight – Winona’s and Jim’s survived by chance.  It was by chance that Jim’s X-gene was active, even by chance how Frank came into Winona’s life – Everything, so many little details, so many events that had to happen  _just so_ , to bring this about.

It was humbling to consider.

“Winona.”  Something in his tone brought her back down to earth, “Jim can’t stay here.  He’ll be ostracised by those that knew him before, he’ll be teased, bullied, called a freak,” memories from his own childhood fuelled Pike’s words now, “Listen to me when I say this:  _Come with me_.”

She rubbed a hand across her eyes, clearing away the tears, “Where?  Come with you where?”

“Australia.”

 

***

Sixteen.

Sweet sixteen.

Why did people get all worked up about it?  It’s just another birthday.  Just another year in his life.

Jim closed his eyes, and concentrated on the feel of the wind on his face, ruffling his hair, air running in fluidic rivulets down his body and through his feathers, primaries separating with each upward lift, clenching back together with each downstroke, a slow, steady beat keeping him aloft.

Even up here, where the air was thin, it was still warm.  The hot Australian sun beat upon his shoulders and back, combatting the icy wind, resulting in the odd sensation of hot and cold, fire and ice playing across his tanned skin.

Two years.  Had it really been two years?  Two years of peace, the best in his life so far.

He’d been astounded, to say the least, when Chris had told him that he wasn’t alone in the world.  He was different, sure, but so were others.  They were the next stage in human evolution, Chris there beside him to explain everything that was weird and wonderful about being different.

He just called it intuition, but they both knew it was way more than that.  Chris could always – repeat,  _always_  – tell when Jim was lying.  Not even his empathic powers – which, by the way, he  _still_  had trouble with – could convince the old man otherwise.  And no matter where he went, Chris was always able to ‘guess’ where he’s gone.  There were a few weird pubs a few hours south, isolated places where people didn’t look twice at the kid with the long coat over his weirdly shaped back, as long as he paid his bill and didn’t cause  _too_  much trouble.

Mum had gone back to Riverside the day before his birthday.  That had kinda put a dampener on things.  She’d thought that going to visit his dad’s grave was more important than being with him on his birthday.  Sure, she’d promised to get him something whilst in America, but it was as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.

He’d looked in the mirror that morning, and seen his father.

No wonder his mum could hardly bear to look at him, on the anniversary of his father’s death.

Jim shook away the negative thoughts, clearing his mind as he turned towards the sunset.  Everything turned shades of red at this time of day; the red sand stretching away almost endlessly beneath him, stretching up to where the red sun touched the horizon, radiating shades of orange and pink into the scattered clouds to the west, gradating  into powder blue at the sky’s zenith, all the way down to a deep indigo in the east.

One day, he’d take a camera up here, and capture the perfect sunset.  Up here, surrounded by endless blue, nothing bad could reach him.

He was safe.

 

 

Later that night, it was just Pike and him at the dinner table, eating replicated lasagne that was nowhere near as good as Mum’s homemade stuff.

“Hey, Jim.”

“Yeah, Chris?”

“I got a call today, from Starfleet.  They want me to run this school, up in the Macdonnell Ranges.”

“That’s up near Alice Springs, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is, actually,” Chris pushed his plate aside, making sure he had Jim’s full attention, “Thing is… It’s a school for people like us, Jim.  People with an activated X-gene.”

“You mean there’s enough of us to start a school?”  Jim’s eyebrows shot upwards. 

“Yeah, apparently.  They want me there, and they want you there as well.  Turns out your little ‘adventures’ haven’t gone completely unnoticed, Jim.”  Grey eyes locked onto blue, informing him just how many of his ‘adventures’ had been noticed.  Jim had the decency to look contrite, but he knew Chris didn’t care that much.  Heck, it was almost impossible to find somewhere to land that was both near civilisation,  _and_  out of sight.  And when push came to shove, Jim would rather get spotted than walk an unnecessarily long distance.

“So… You interested?”

“…Sure.  Why not?” 

Jim’s trademark grin lit up the room.

Peace was good to recharge the batteries – but when it went on for too long, it got very boring.

Jim was ready to let some excitement back into his life.


	4. Stars of Their Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek, nor do I know jack shit about horses, fencing, or robots. All mistakes are my own. Also, Uhura’s intro ended up sucking badly, so let’s just say that she went on holiday. Her power(s) shall be revealed later.

**Stars of Their Own**

 

They were out on the ranch for the weekend, him and his dad.  David McCoy had grown up in the country, and he wanted his son to know what life away from the city felt like.  That first night, they slept outside, stargazing and roasting marshmallows to the light of the full moon.

David delivered on his earlier promise, and took his boy out horse-riding the next day.  He was tall and well-muscled for a fifteen year old, plenty strong enough for one of the mares.  David decided to take one of the younger stallions, confident in his experience with horses.

He didn’t take into account how little experience the horse had with people.

The snake had come out of nowhere, raising its head and hissing with unadulterated hostility.  The horse reared back, spinning around and galloping in the opposite direction, throwing David to the ground right in front of the snake.  The fall had done a significant amount of damage as it was, breaking bones and tearing flesh, but then the snake attacked, stabbing him with venom-tipped fangs, before slithering away into the underbrush.

“Dad!”  Leonard McCoy dismounted, running towards his father.  It didn’t look good.  Hurriedly keying in an emergency call with his comm unit (thank goodness he’d left it in his pocket), he knelt down beside his father, “Pa?  Can you hear me?  Dad!”  He shook the man’s shoulder when he got no response, tears welling in his eyes.

Suddenly the man heaved in an almighty gasp, his eyes flying open, hands immediately moving to where he’d been bitten.  The man was clearly in pain.

“Don’t move Pa, we’ll fix this, I swear.”  Leonard’s hands moved across his father’s body, assessing the damage.  Then, it was as if his vision  _shifted_ , something clicking into place.  He could tell exactly how many bones were broken, knew his father was bleeding internally, could almost  _see_  the snake’s poison spreading through his veins.

And he knew how to fix it all.

He placed his hands carefully on his father’s torso, one over the heart, the other near his hip.  Closing his eyes, he  _felt_  out the injuries, using this new sense instinctively, feeling his way through the process.  He summoned forth everything he knew about first aid and medicine (a significant amount), imagining the bones and organs stitching themselves back into place, returning back to how they should be.  He sought out the dark poison, the heavy blackness working its way through his father’s body, and reversed its direction, pushing out every last drop.  By the time the emergency services had arrived, Leonard had healed all but the broken femur and the internal bleeding.  He had no idea how to deal with the latter.  But that would come with time.

When his father awoke in hospital, he eyed his son with a suspicious, almost hostile gaze, eyes that told Leonard that he knew what the boy had done, and the thought scared him.  It didn’t matter that he’d saved his father’s life.  The man thought him a freak.

 

***

 

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. 

Kimi had somehow convinced him into coming to this fencing tournament – she’d always been interested in that sort of stuff.  But apparently it was an open arena – anyone present was liable to be challenged.

And this big, burly Spaniard had challenged him.

Fuck.

He’d seen what that guy was doing – he was cheating, and using scare tactics to boot.  And he was pretty certain that blade wasn’t regulation blunt.  He’d seen a bunch of people walking away with bleeding cuts in painful places.

The crowd of teenagers cheered him forward, pushing him onto the mat, and a sabre was shoved into his hand.  He had never fenced in his life – how the hell was he meant to come away from this unharmed?  Plus there was the fact that no way in hell did he want to get beaten in front of Kimi.  Hell no.

So he took the sabre and held it out in front of him, legs bent in a pose he’d seen in all the holovids with sword-fighting heroes.

The Spaniard just laughed at him, taking the sword in two hands, and charging.  It was pretty damn lucky that Hikaru Sulu was quick, because he had to use all the agility at his disposal simply to keep from being decapitated.

As the dance carried on, Sulu’s breath started coming in short gasps, warm air rasping in and out of his lungs, sweat trickling down his forehead and back.  He couldn’t go on for much longer.  He tried swinging the blade a few times, but the guy parried each with a practiced ease.

Suddenly, he lunged forward, and it was all Sulu could do to bring up the blade to block the blow, arms straining under the Spaniard’s strength.  He tried pushing back, tried moving, tried to see if there was any way he could get out of this impasse without coming out second best, but --

Then it clicked.

Something in his mind shifted, and somehow he just knew what to do.

He took a measured step to the side, releasing his blade, drawing it back up to his chest as he danced away.  As the guy lumbered after him, time seemed to slow as his eyes flicked to and fro, noting every movement, every nuance of his opponent’s body language, just waiting for his chance to strike.

The Spaniard’s eyes flickered to Sulu’s abdomen, signalling where he was going to strike.  Sulu parried easily, spinning around to score a point across the man’s shoulder.

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at his opponent, eager to test the man’s patience now that he had the skills to teach the fool a lesson.  If you cheat, if you hurt, you will be punished.

Sulu danced.

He  _toyed_  with the man, teasing, prancing, spinning.  The match dragged on, the crowd silent, Sulu moving with uncanny speed, seeming to know how the Spaniard would move before even he did.  His blood pumped in his ears, his breath moved smoothly in and out of his lungs, his muscles burned with the exertion, yet he knew he could go for hours.  It  _excited_  him, this ferocity.  It carried on until the man grew tired, until Sulu finally let the man lose.  He knocked him to the ground, holding the sabre above him,

“Do you yield?”  His voice was harsh with something that would have been bloodlust, were he interested in the man’s blood.

The Spaniard’s eyes sparked with fear.  Sulu flinched, coming back to reality, his gaze lifting to the silent crowd.  His opponent’s eyes were reflected in every single teenager, expressions of suspicion, anger, and outright fear.

The worst of all was Kimi’s face.  Her eyes were wide with shock and distrust, her body language closed off, her whole body silently questioning,  _what are you_?

He backed away, physically wounded by that expression, wanting to get as far away as possible from it.  He looked panickedly to the sides, seeking escape, and the crowd parted for him, teenagers drawing away like they were afraid to touch him.

He ran.  He ran away, ignoring the stares the public gave him, just wanting to get away from those looks of fear and distrust.

It was only when he finally stopped in an alley several miles away, that he realised he was still holding the practice sabre, its dull metal glinting in the light of the San Francisco dusk.

 

***

 

He was eighteen, and his da had finally let him come to work with him.  Montgomery Scott (known to his parents as Monty, and his friends as Scotty), had always had a fascination with machines.  He reckoned he’d got it from his father.  The man was always bringing home little gadgets he’d made from spare parts and wires, stuff he’d improved upon and stuff he’d accidentally destroyed just a little bit.  His da was one of the leading engineers in a company contracted by Starfleet, working on the latest in industrial robotics, from the construction droids destined to build starships in the Starfleet dry docks, to the fine-tuned laboratory robots, with their highly sophisticated programming.

And he was so excited.

“This place is so cool!”  He looked around the factory with wide-eyed, open-mouthed awe.  There was technology _everywhere_ , from the replicators and turbolifts to the droids and tools, and everything that was being made there.

“Come on, son – the R&D labs are just up ahead,” his da grinned at him, well understanding his son’s excitement, but used to the wonder of his workplace.

Scotty’s head snapped back towards his da at the mention of the R&D labs, “What’re they workin’ on now?  Ah cannae wait to see some o’ those new droids!”  He grinned his slightly manic grin that he’d inherited from his father.

Christopher Scott shook his head fondly at the boy, grinning a similar, if less fervent, grin. 

The R&D labs were the site of some of the most state-of-the-art research and development projects this side of Earth.  Only those in San Francisco, Starfleet’s almighty headquarters, could hope to match their ingenuity.  As such, some areas were _definitely_  out-of-bounds for an eighteen year old non-employee.  But that didn’t matter too much – there was so much he could drool over without having to go out-of-bounds.  New communications technology, new medical tools, new _everything._   His da decided to leave him to it, needing to get back to work in one of the areas that were a little less open to visitors.

And sure, that satisfied Scotty for a while.  There  _was_  a shitload of awesome technology right where he was, and plenty of engineers and scientists to pester with his theories, but eventually the lure of a place specifically labelled as  _Off Limits to Visitors_  was too great to resist.

He grabbed a few bits and pieces from one of the communications development labs, wiring together a little noisemaker.  Trying to look innocent (he never could act), he sauntered up near the door to the Unmanned Construction Drones lab, chucking the noisemaker under a table as he went.  He hovered inconspicuously (he hoped) until the timer ticked down to zero, and the device started emitting a highly concerning alarm noise.  In the confusion that followed, he slipped through into the lab, ducking through the next door to the left.

He found himself in a bloody great chamber, face-to-face with a bloody great robot.

A bloody great robot that was currently going mad.

Far-off movement caught his eye, and he saw scientist-types running around like headless chickens in their transparent-aluminium-walled lab, furiously typing into their consoles, pushing big red buttons, and yelling at the computers.

And the robot had spotted him.

But it didn’t scare him.

He calmly walked forward as the robot menacingly thudded its way across the chamber, organic and mechanic staring each other down, their eyes (and optical sensors) locked onto the other.  That bloody thing was  _huge_.  Ten metres tall at the very least.  And a bit chunky too.  That thing was definitely built for heavy work.

He was twenty metres away now, and a panicked voice rang out over the comm, “Monty!  Montgomery, get the hell outta there!”  It was his father, scared for his son’s life as he faced down this insane robot, which was ripping up and  _throwing_ hulking great masses of metal out of its way, obviously the things it was meant to be doing some kind of testing program with.

But Scotty still didn’t feel scared.

When the robot was five metres away, arm raised, girder in hand, ready to eliminate the pitiful organic being before it, Scotty just raised his hand.

Just his hand, only his hand, raised in the universal gesture for ‘stop’.

And the robot stopped.

It literally froze in place, all lights and motors powering down, as the robot was shut off.

There was a glow surrounding him, concentrated most brightly in his upraised hand, a slightly blue-green glow that permeated the air around him.  He knew he could control this machine, probably  _any_  machine, with just his mind. 

It was an exhilarating feeling.

For the first time since entering that room, Scotty grinned his manic grin.  He glanced over at the scientists in their transparent booth… and the grin slipped from his face. 

His da’s expression was the most mild – he simply looked shocked, and perhaps a little relieved that his son was ok.

Everyone else… they ranged from suspicious, to scared, to outright hostile.

His da ended up being fired.  He himself barely escaped the torrent of accusations and questions.

Hostility is always directed towards those who are just a little too different.

 

***

 

He typed away furiously in the darkness, the screen set to its lowest brightness possible, constantly glancing up at the door.  He couldn’t afford to get caught now.  Not when he was so close.

At least if the guards did find him, he could put on the lost baby act – he looked young for his age, and his age was very small. 

Despite Pavel Chekov’s young age of twelve, he was already studying university courses, well on his way to several degrees and eventually a doctorate – or several.  His parents often joked that they couldn’t understand how such a big brain fit inside such a little body.  In fact, his great intelligence had only made an appearance a couple of years before – he suddenly seemed to just understand everything, going from your averagely smart boy to an incredible supergenius. 

But right now, he was using some of his more illegitimate skills, trying to bring down an online criminal organisation – hacking the hackers, so to speak.  But he couldn’t do it from his home, oh no – he needed a direct linkup.

So he’d broken into this nondescript workplace, the legitimate forefront of the organisation.  He’d had help breaking in, of course – he wasn’t alone in his efforts.  None of them knew any other’s names – they went by aliases, to protect their identities and families when they took down big time bad guys.

Chekov went by an alias which translated as “MisterCleanUp” in Russian.

It thrilled him that these people took him so seriously.

To them though, he was just a short fellow – he could be a dwarf, he could be an alien, they didn’t care.  No one had seen his face, and he could disguise his voice well enough.  No one knew how young he truly was.

Chekov shook his head, returning to the present.  The code was finished, uploaded into the mainframe.  There would be a short delay, enough time for him to get away, before the virus started taking effect.  He mustn’t take any chances – he must be well away from the facility by the time they figured out what was happening, so that no blame could fall on him.

Chekov glanced nervously at the security camera in the corner.  The others had  _said_  they’d hacked into the feed, uploaded a loop to the CCTV system, but he tugged his balaclava more securely around his face, just in case.

Taking a deep breath, he tiptoed towards the door, slowly inching his head out.

“ _Chyort voz'mi!_ ”  Chekov swore under his breath, ducking back inside.  Guards checking the rooms!  He checked his watch, swearing again as he realised he’d taken a lot longer than he thought he would.  His eyes scanned the dark room quickly, searching for a hiding place.  Furniture and computer banks lined the walls of the room, with one large table in the centre, leaving no reliable nooks or crannies to hide in.  The soft clicking of the guards’ boots grew closer, stopping at the room next door, deep voices conversing softly in Russian as they progressed along the hall.

Chekov started to panic, breath coming quicker.  No hiding places.  Guards in the hall.  Time for the baby act.

He tugged off his balaclava, rolled the sleeves and neck of his turtleneck sweater, and mussed up his curly hair, rubbing his eyes to make them red, trying to summon tears.  He tucked the precious data chip into the pendant hung around his neck, and crawled under the table, tucking his knees up under his chin and trying his best to look eight years old.

Click, click, click.

The door creaked open, and the light flickered on.  The watched the boots travel around the table as they checked under the computer banks.

_Think, act; eight year old.  What would a scared eight year old do?_

Chekov sniffled quietly, and the boots froze.  Slowly, they crouched down, a torso and arms appearing, and then a head ducking under the table.  Chekov could feel his pocket-phaser in his boot, nudging his ankle.  If he was discovered, if he was fast enough, he might  _just_  be able to slip away…

But the man’s eyes passed right over him, unseeing. 

“Anything there?”  The other guard called out from the door.

“ _Nyet_.  I must have been hearing things,” the man crouched by the table laughed, making his way back out of the room.  When the door clicked closed, Chekov released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.  Why hadn’t they seen him?  It wasn’t as if he was--

Chekov sucked in a breath as he glanced down at his body.  Then the illusion flickered, and he became visible again.  But for that moment, he’d been – it was impossible, surely, but the guard hadn’t seen him, so it must be true.

Chekov pinched himself, making sure he wasn’t dreaming.

He could turn invisible.

_He could turn invisible._

A slow grin spread across his face.

He could turn invisible.


	5. The Starfleet Academy for New Humans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drambuie is a thing – google it.
> 
> All mistakes belong to me, but unfortunately, Star Trek does not. Neither do the lines from the movie that I stole for non-commercial purposes, I swear.
> 
> Character Ages:
> 
> Jim: 16
> 
> Spock: 15
> 
> Bones: 17
> 
> Uhura: 16
> 
> Scotty: 18
> 
> Chekov: 14
> 
> Sulu: 15
> 
> Pike: 44
> 
> Amanda: 41
> 
> Gaila: 16
> 
> Also, the bad guy has been introduced. Probably glaringly obvious to most of my readers, but don't spoil it for those that don't know. He won't be named for a little while, and I have screwed with the canon so that the events of X-Men and the Star Trek canon for the late 20th/early 21st centuries kinda fit.

**The Starfleet Academy for New Humans**

 

It was a sunny summer’s day, a typical January heatwave in Australia.  Temperatures climbed to thirty-five degrees Celsius, the Sydney locals all trotting about in thongs, singlets and sunglasses.

All except one sixteen-year-old boy, that is.  His long trench-coat may have drawn some odd looks, and he was sure sweating up a storm in its heavy folds, but it was better than the kind of attention he’d get if he went around without it.  Yeah, wings were a bitch sometimes.

Chris returned from the bathroom, coming up to lean against their shuttle, on-loan from Starfleet.  The first of the other ‘students’ were due to arrive soon.  He’d seen the profiles, and he was sure looking forward to meeting them.  Two of them were even aliens!  Well, half-alien – the other half human, which was how they’d inherited the dormant X-gene.

The twenty kids ranged between fourteen at the youngest – an adorable looking Russian kid, with literally off-the-scale aptitude scores – to eighteen, in the form of a crazy-looking Scott.  Jim liked the look of him immediately.

“Ready to face the music?”  Chris threw him a smirk, running a hand through his greying hair.  Jim nodded, mirroring his smirk as they set off for the transport terminal’s bar & bistro, where they’d agreed to meet the others.

The bar wasn’t that full at this time of day – it was 10am, long before happy hour, and still a few hours from lunch.  A few casually dressed patrons dined on a late breakfast, or perhaps brunch, but for the most part the bar was rather empty.

So it was easy to spot the nervous-looking teenagers when they came in, most with their parents, some without.

“Hey,” Jim flashed his most winning grin at a dark-skinned girl when she came towards their table.  She raised an eyebrow at him, eyes flicking up and down his body, taking in the sun-bleached hair, heavy jacket and the lack of sweat across his face, telling her that this boy was used to the heat, and he had something to hide.

“…Hey,” she replied, sitting across from him.  Jim glanced up, seeing that Chris was down the other end of the table, conversing with some parents.  Fantastic.  Time to work his charms.

“Two virgin Apple Gingers, thanks,” he called out to a passing waiter, raising an eyebrow at the girl, “So, what’s your name?”

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards as she picked up a menu, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Do you at least want to know my name before you completely reject me?”  He placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt.

“I’m fine without it,” she licked a finger, turning the page.

“You  _are_  fine without it,” he winked, “It’s Jim.  Jim Kirk.”  He looked her up and down, wondering why his charm wasn’t having any effect, “You know, if you don’t tell me your name, I’m gonna have to make one up,” he rested his chin on one hand.

She rolled her eyes with a grin, “It’s Uhura.”

“Uhura?  No way,” Jim slapped his palms on the table, “That’s the name I was gonna make up for you!  Uhura what?”

“Just Uhura.”

“What, they don’t have last names on your world?”

“Uhura  _is_  my last name,” she rolled her eyes again, looking exasperated now.

“So… they don’t have first names on your world?”

Their banter was cut short by a grumbling teenager plonking himself down on the seat next to Jim, dropping a backpack down on the floor beside him with a heavy thunk,

“I tell you what, this ain’t gonna end well,” he informed them in a heavy Southern accent, “I can feel it in my bones.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Jim quipped, offering a hand, “My name’s Jim.  Jim Kirk,” he flashed his trademark grin at the young man – just to check if his charm hadn’t shorted out or something, you know.

The teen’s eyes widened as he too Jim’s hand, looking him over, “McCoy, Leonard McCoy.”

“Too bad.  You’re Bones now.  So, where’re you from?”

Uhura rolled her eyes again, turning to the girl sitting next to her – any boy whose attention shifted so easily wasn’t worth the attention.

“Georgia, in the States,” Bones informed him, looking thoughtful, “You’re from there too, aren’t you?  Somewhere central?”

“How’d you guess?” Jim grinned as Bones laughed, then dropping his grin in a pseudo-serious expression, “No, seriously.  How’d you guess?  I’m meant to be undercover here –  _sshh_ , don’t tell anyone,” he took an exaggerated stare around the room, like he was making sure no one was eavesdropping on them.  Bones snorted again, seemingly against his will.

Another boy came to sit on the other side of Jim, an Asian-American in a yellow half-sleeved shirt, “Quite the gang we’re building here, isn’t it?” the boy quipped.

“Yup, it’s great, isn’t it?”  Jim grinned, “So, what makes you guys special?”

Immediately, everyone looked uncomfortable.  Those with an active X-gene weren’t exactly welcomed by the rest of the human race.  Seemed a bit hypocritical, really – they (well, most) could accept all forms of alien life, with all sorts of abilities that humans couldn’t even dream of.  But when one of their own showed superhuman ‘powers’, well, they were shunned.  Called freaks.  Jim wasn’t entirely sure what Starfleet wanted with these guys, and Chris wasn’t exactly unsuspicious either, but it was a fantastic opportunity that they couldn’t refuse.

The Asian-American – he introduced himself as Hikaru Sulu – was the first to reply, “Well, I’m nothing special, really,” he hesitated, years of  _don’t-talk-about-it_  holding him back.

“Yeeeeeeaaaah?”  Jim prompted, sending him calming thoughts.  Let’s just say his ‘charm’ could do a lot more than pick up dates.

Sulu seemed to relax slightly, “Well, I fence.  Sword-fighting and stuff,” he scratched the back of his neck, “It just seemed to click one day – I’d never picked up a sword in my life before that.  Plus I can read body language and stuff, tell how someone’s going to react or move, and I can move really fast – not Flash fast or anything, just a lot faster than anyone I’ve met.”  He ducked his head when he realised he’d been rambling, halting his small speech.

“That… is pretty damn awesome,” Jim told him truthfully, grinning.  It really was – they had their own musketeer!

“What about you?” he turned to the other boy, whom he’d nicknamed Bones.  He seemed a little less uncomfortable, and more just… grouchy.  Jim suspected that was just his default setting though.

“I heal people.  Can’t do a damn thing about myself, but I can fix pretty much anything in other people,” he looked a little sheepish now, “And I can tell how a person is physically and psychologically by touch.”

Jim’s eyes widened, “So when you shook my hand--”

“Yup.”

“Well, I think you might need some help learning how to shield,” Jim’s smile made a return to his face.

Uhura had apparently been listening in on this dialogue, “Oh yeah?  So what about you then?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he winked at her.

She just rolled her eyes again, “Nice try, farmboy.  C’mon, spill.”

Jim huffed, “Fine then.  Well, my major…  _speciality_ , I’ll show you guys on the shuttle.  Don’t want to start a riot or anything, you know,” he waved a hand nonchalantly, causing everyone to roll their eyes, “Other than that though… I’m an empath, thus the reason why I can teach Bonesey here to shield – though I get the feeling that a lot of people here will be getting the Shielding: 101 class, from what Chris’s told me.”

“Chris?”  Sulu raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Chris Pike,” he pointed out the man in the small cluster of adults, “He’s gonna be the principal of this new school.”  The others raised their eyebrows further, but Jim cut their ensuing questions off, continuing his explanation, “I also have regenerative abilities – kinda the opposite of you, Bones.  I can heal myself, but not others.”

Another boy came to sit on the other side of Uhura now, joining in their conversation, “Wha’s this now?  A place like this should surely have a decent sandwich or two!”  He spoke in a thick Scottish brogue, waving a menu about in disappointment.

Thus the tone was set for their early lunch, with introductions being made, and powers being listed.  The Scot introduced himself as Scotty – which Jim found amusing – explaining his technopathic abilities, and bragging about his pet robotic dog which he’d brought along – apparently named Drambuie.  Uhura finally spilled, saying she had some minor empathy, and was actually able to shield – thus Jim’s lack of effect on her – and she had super-hearing and something that she called ‘om-com’ – the ability to communicate via anything capable of projecting sound, from communicators to old-style TVs.  Jim found that rather impressive.

A few others came to sit down around them, including the adorable young Russian whiz-kid, who could apparently do anything with computers, and could turn ‘inwisible’.  He and Sulu hit it off immediately, talking about their shared hobby of gaming.  An Orion – well, half-Orion – girl sat down next, drawing everyone’s attention before she quickly apologised, saying her pheromones were really hard to control.  Apparently her X-gene and Orion physiology had teamed up, giving her something similar to projective empathy, in that she could affect people’s emotions with her pheromones, far past the simply attractive abilities of normal Orion pheromones.

Jim pardoned himself at that point, starting to feel a touch claustrophobic.  He was a little unsure of how he’d be able to deal with the school, which was apparently adapted from an old underground facility in the mountains near Alice Springs.  Ever since he grew his wings, he’d had an inability to deal with small spaces.  Probably had a lot to do with his free-flying bird spirit.

He threw Chris a mock-salute as he passed, heading outside for a breath of fresh air.  Man, he so wanted to take this damn jacket off, but as he told the others, it wouldn’t be a good idea.

 _Just another half hour, then we’ll be in the shuttle.  I can take my jacket off then_ , he told himself.  The shuttle wasn’t good for his nerves either, but it could fly a helluva lot faster than he could, so he could deal for the couple of hours it took to fly over.

“Hello?  Is this the meeting place for the school?”

Jim turned towards the voice, spotting a woman in her late thirties walking towards him, followed by a simply  _stunning_ Vulcan boy.

Well.  He must be the half-Vulcan.

He took a moment to find his voice, turning to the woman with a grin, “Sure is, ma’am.  I assume you’re Amanda?  And Spock?” he turned towards the boy, who simply nodded.

“I’m afraid it’s my fault that we’re late,” Amanda apologised, “We just moved to Earth a week ago, and we’ve been busy unpacking.  I lost track of the time,” she shrugged.

“Perfectly fine, Amanda.  Still got another half hour before we leave.  Come on, grab something to eat before we go,” he ushered them inside, careful not to touch.  He’d read up on Vulcan manners, and he couldn’t do that damn ta’al thing for his life, but he could at least respect their no-touchy rules.

A chorus of greetings arose from his little group – now consisting of about a third of the people there – as Jim returned to the table, herding Spock ahead of him as Amanda turned towards the table of adults.

“So, Spock, tell us about yourself,’ he insisted, guiding him to the last free seat, at the end of the table, “Don’t worry, we won’t judge you.”

Spock seemed uncertain, his eyes flicking about while his face remained passive.  Sheesh, this guy would be fantastic at poker.

“I would be more willing to share my abilities, if I knew some of what other powers are present,” he said stiffly.

“Fair enough,” Jim shrugged, “I’m empathic, and I have regenerative abilities – makes me near impossible to get rid of,” he smirked, leaning a hand on the back of Spock’s chair as he gestured to the others. 

“Inwisibility,” Chekov piped up next, looking quite proud.

“Super-hearing, om-com, omnilinguality,” Uhura volunteered next, checking off on her fingers.

“Fencing and speed and stuff,” Sulu shrugged.

“Technopathy,” Scotty raised a hamburger in mock salute.

“Healing,” Bones still looked grouchy.

Spock nodded, seemingly to himself as he folded his hands in his lap, “I have telekinetic skills, similar to my mother yet much more advanced, enabling me to fly.  I also have telepathic capabilities much advanced past the usual abilities of Vulcan individuals.”  He nodded towards McCoy, “I also have some healing abilities, though they are much undeveloped.”

There wasn’t time to say much else, as Chris’s ear-splitting whistle rang through the bar, “Alright guys, we’ll be off soon.  Make sure you’ve got all your stuff, and have said goodbye to your parents/guardians/people, whatever.”

Jim turned to the gang, a grin splitting his face as he rubbed his palms together, “Right-o boys and girls, let’s get this party started!”

 

***

 

“So come on then.  Show us what’s under that jacket,” Bones elbowed him in the side once the shuttle had taken off.  Of course, Bones already knew, what with his touch-sensory-thing, but he wanted to  _see_.

Jim rolled his eyes, shrugging out of the seat harness.  Curious eyes turned to the boy, including those of a few adults they’d picked up in Sydney – teachers-to-be, plus Spock’s mum.  He turned around, trying to figure out what the best way to do this was.  For full effect, he needed to be able to stretch his wings out as much as possible – and his seven-metre wingspan would only  _just_  fit into the confined space.

Jim went and stood so that he was equal lengths away from both ends of the craft, shrugging his jacket loose.  He threw his new friends a grin, and snapped his wings open, the feathery limbs extending to their full length in a second.  The gold and brown dappled feathers filled the length of the craft, their shining softness glinting in the bands of light that shone through the shuttle’s windows.  There were a few murmurs of awe as he ruffled his feathers, trying to ease out the aching cramps that came from hours of having his wings pulled tight against his back.  He leant sideways, stretching one wing, then the other, massaging his shoulders.

“Fascinating,” an unexpected voice spoke from the far end of the shuttle, “How much of your physiology is adapted to flight?”

Jim shrugged, pulling his wings back in loose against his body, making his way towards Spock.  He sat near the others, but separated, seemingly unwilling to class himself as part of any group.

“My bones are hollow and lightweight, made from different stuff to usual human bones,” he sat down across from Spock, trying to appear nonchalant, but secretly thrilled that this admittedly  _hot_  guy was giving him his unwavering attention, “I also have way more efficient lungs, and my metabolism works much faster than your average human, meaning that I’m hungry pretty much  _all the time_ ,” he emphasized by rubbing his stomach, drawing a few chuckles from the other kids who were listening in intently.

“I also have pretty heightened senses, which I think everyone with the X-gene has – like, really good eyesight, smell, hearing, that sorta stuff – though Uhura is in a class of her own,” he gave her another wink.

“Fascinating,” said Spock.  And he meant it.

 

***

 

Earth was very different to what he imagined.

What his research had uncovered had suggested that what land wasn’t covered by urban settlements or water (and there was certainly far more water on Earth than on Vulcan), was covered with highly diverse plant life.

His first impressions followed this conclusion – his mother had settled in Sydney, the largest city on the continent that was home to the ‘school’ being set up by Starfleet.  She could have settled closer, in Alice Springs, but she wished to be near to the continent’s Vulcan embassy.  She said it made her feel more ‘at home’, being near those with pointed ears and slanted eyebrows.

But when he saw the Australian interior, his first impressions were, to use the human phrase, thrown out of the window.

It was red.

Red like Vulcan.

In the three hours it took to travel from Sydney to the Macdonnell Ranges, he could almost believe it was Vulcan they were travelling over, the red plateaus flying past far below. 

Thoughts of home still made him melancholy, but he was sure to stamp out that emotion as soon as it surfaced.  It was illogical to miss Vulcan.  Not only was it illogical to have an emotional attachment to a location in the first place, it was also ridiculous to miss a place in which his defining experiences had been negative.  He was determined to make this planet his home, to wash away those negative thoughts of Vulcan, yet he didn’t want to lose that part of him either.  With his father gone, it was left to him to be as Vulcan as he could be.

This left him in a very difficult position, as the culture of his new home was incompatible with that of his birth.

He resolved to meditate upon this issue once he had settled into the new school.

Most of the children left him to his thoughts for the trip, for which he was thankful.  But that one boy, the winged one who had introduced himself as ‘Jim’, had placed himself across from Spock, and was attempting to surreptitiously stare at him.

“What is it that garners your attention so?” Spock eventually confronted him, feeling self-conscious.  Was there something on his face?  Were his clothes stained?

“I just haven’t ever seen a Vulcan before,” the boy shrugged, staring more openly now, “Are all of you this good looking?”  The boy cocked his head to the side, blinking with one eye in a motion Mother had referred to as ‘winking’.  Spock realised the boy was being flirtatious, the realisation causing him to focus his attention more directly upon him.  Sure enough, all the indicators were there – torso facing directly towards him, dilated pupils, open body language.  No one had ever been attracted to him before.  How fascinating.

Jim seemed to almost bask in his attention, stretching out on the seat to display more of his body.  The jacket had been slung over the back of the chair, leaving his jeans and singlet uncovered.  His clothes were form-fitting, suggesting defined musculature underneath.  His chest and shoulder muscles were larger than average for a human male, though not grossly so; an adaptation which was logical with the addition of two extra limbs that Spock assumed were able to lift his body weight.

Spock decided to humour him with a response, “I would not know, as I have not met all Vulcans.”

“So what, how much of your aesthetic appearance comes from your Vulcan side then?”  Jim looked thoroughly amused at this point.  Spock didn’t know what to make of it.  Maybe he’d misread the cues – this discussion of his aesthetics was illogical.

Thankfully, another individual drew Jim’s attention away, negating his obligation to answer.  He could not help but feel a twinge of disappointment though, when Jim started acting with the same… enthusiasm towards this individual.  Perhaps that was simply how he interacted with people; an empath would, by necessity, be in touch with his emotions and those of whom surrounded him.  Perhaps he acted this way because he had learned that it garnered the most positive responses from those he interacted with.

Spock shook his head slightly, dismissing these thoughts, returning his gaze to the landscape below.  They were entering a mountainous region now, which suggested that they would soon arrive at their destination.

This assumption was proven correct, when Mr Pike’s voice sounded over the shuttle intercom,

“Pike here.  We’ll be arriving at the academy in just a few minutes.  Make sure you’ve got any loose items stowed, and your harnesses are buckled – this last bit gets a little bumpy.  Pike out.”

Spock watched Jim out of the corner of his eye, as he attempted to get his wings back into the harness.  He eventually succeeded, with the aid of the irritable boy seated next to him, and much cursing from them both.

As the shuttle made its way down, it was buffeted by the gusts of wind that were funnelled between the rock faces, sending them almost into the cliffside.  Mr Pike was either a very experienced pilot, or very familiar with the area, and Spock took a moment to appreciate the man’s skill.

Until he directed them straight towards a solid wall of rock.

Spock only had time to widen his eyes as the shuttle flew towards the rock… and straight through it.  His head snapped around to look out the window behind them, the view showing a cavern entrance, a hole in the rock.  He looked around to the area they now found themselves in, a large hangar.  Ingenious – disguising the hangar entrance with a holographic image.  But why would there be a need to camouflage themselves so?  Spock hypothesised that Starfleet must think them in danger somehow, presenting a target in their training of what they called ‘New Humans’. 

And then there was also the question of  _why_  they deemed it profitable to train them in their abilities – of all the children here, none were above eighteen, and all (well, those that he knew of) had familial connections to Starfleet.  Perhaps it was only a pilot program, one that would eventually become a large-scale project in training the New Humans in control of themselves and their abilities; but there was also the possibility that not all was as it seemed.

 

***

 

This place was  _huge_.

Jim’s eyes widened as the elevator made its way up from the hangar into the actual facility.  There was a central hollow area ten metres across, up the side of which the platform climbed, the space bordered with railings and walkways.  There were ten levels to the place – from dorms and stuff on the first two floors, to a dining hall on the third, to classrooms and laboratories and a medbay on the next three floors, all the way down to the floors just above the hangar, with gyms and rec rooms, all with ceilings ten metres tall.

The ancient cable-and-pulley system crawled up at an agonising pace, and Jim shuffled his weight back and forth between his legs, growing impatient.  It was an open elevator, basically just a platform that was winched upwards, nothing but a railing between him and the open space in the middle, just enough room to fly up…

He slung his duffle bag around his neck, and threw the others a jaunty salute, launching himself over the barrier.  There was a moment of free fall, his wings catching him a few feet off the bottom of the middle space.  Even if he’d misjudged it, he wouldn’t have been seriously hurt by the fall.  His survival instinct was probably irreversibly warped by his experiences and abilities, but meh.  Wasn’t as if he needed a survival instinct.

He shot upwards, wings pumping hard to shape the motionless air in the underground space.  He paused next to the elevator, spotting Pike’s exasperated expression, and Spock’s raised eyebrow.

“Hey Spock!  Show me how you fly,” Jim called out to him.  The other eyebrow went up, and Spock took a small step forward, as if he were being dragged against his will.  The elevator was only halfway up, and the others were all content to wait the extra minute it took to climb another fifty metres – okay, maybe the lift wasn’t going  _that_  slowly, but it was still pretty damn slow for him.

 

Spock on the other hand was content with the pace of the elevator.  He had been almost silent ever since he and his mother had arrived in Sydney.  True, he wasn’t very talkative to start with, but his silence was more pronounced these past few hours.  He had been content to be introspective, though perhaps it would have been logical to begin forming amicable acquaintances with those whom he would be spending the next few months, perhaps even years with.  Though they all, bar one or two, appeared friendly and accepting, he doubted that any would feel any desire to interact with him past the base interactions between those whom you shared residence with.

Spock was not a rebel.  Spock was not a risk-taker.  He may entertain thoughts of unorthodox behaviour, but his Vulcan training allowed him to dismiss those notions before they became too tempting.

So it was a complete surprise to him when he found himself hoisting himself up over the railing, backpack slung over his shoulders, and levitating up to Jim’s level.  He was greeted by a grin as bright as the sun (however illogical that imagery was), who pushed upwards, buffeting Spock with the downdraft from his wings.

“Come on, Spock!  I wanna check out the dorms!”

Spock’s head unconsciously tilted to the side as he tried to find some motive for the boy’s actions.  The only conclusion he was able to reach, was that Jim was an impatient individual, with far too much energy to spare.

Again, against his better judgement (though he reasoned that he must keep an eye on this individual, prevent him from doing anything too harmful or harming), he found himself following Jim up to the highest level, where the dormitories were housed.

The walkway surrounding the open space was newly renovated, with shining linoleum floors and silver handrails.  The walls were painted white, and the area well lit, lending an open feel to the space that it would not otherwise have.  There were large double-doors set into the wall on both sides of the gap, words painted on their frosted glass indicating separate domestic quarters for the students and adults.  The door labelled “Students” was slightly ajar, showing where Jim had disappeared to.

Spock pushed through the door, stepping into what appeared to be a common room.  This area also had whitewashed walls, the furniture coloured various shades of blue and white.  There was a small kitchenette in the back corner, with a table and chairs set up nearby.  In the middle of the floor were a number of lounges, a coffee table in the centre, all facing towards a large holoscreen.

“I call yellow room!”  Jim’s voice called from behind another set of double doors (tinted blue, and labelled “Male Dormitories”) on the left wall.  There was another door on the right, tinted red and labelled “Female Dormitories”.

Stepping through the door to the male dormitories, Spock saw it opened up into another small room, lined with doors painted in alternating red, blue and yellow, set into white walls, with another door at the end labelled “Bathroom”.  He supposed the female dormitories would be near identical.  He had only spent a week on Earth, yet he had already detected several hundred illogical human practices, not the least of which was the tendency to paint the rooms of different genders various hues of blue and pink.

Jim stuck his head out of a room half-way down the small antechamber, “Oh, there you are.  Wasn’t sure if you followed,” he stepped out fully, no longer carrying his belongings, “My room is a kinda goldy-yellow themed.  Reminds me of the Starfleet command uniform.  Actually, all these rooms are Starfleet colours.”  His natural posture seemed inclined towards a standard parade rest, feet slightly apart, shoulders straight, arms behind his back – and wings tucked in, taking surprisingly little space when pulled tight against his back.  Spock’s own natural posture was similar, but he stood with his feet together.  Jim cocked his head to the side, the flirtatious grin returning as startling blue eyes searched chocolate brown, “I think a blue room would suit you,” he commented, nudging open the door to the room adjacent to the one he had selected.

Spock did indeed prefer the colour blue, however illogical it was to have any preference towards a colour.  But how did he know this?  A raised eyebrow from Spock drew a laugh out of Jim, as he came up to slap him on the shoulder, “I’m right, aren’t I?  Go on, put your stuff down, the others’ll be here right about now.”  The grinning figure departed, leaving Spock to release a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

Spock did have a preference for the colour blue.

And those eyes were a stunning shade.

He went to shake his head slightly to clear his mind, but aborted the motion – an illogical movement, telling of emotion.  His father would have disapproved.

But even the melancholy thought of his long-gone father couldn’t dampen the spark of – excitement?  Hope?  Anticipation? – that bloomed within his chest. 

Of course, he would never admit to it.

 

***

 

Far on the other side of the globe, a young man stirred from his centuries-long slumber.

He had been forced into hiding years before, when the Wars had taken a turn for the worse.  They hadn’t appreciated his true power.  They hadn’t understood that the New Humans were the only way forward, and had decided to wipe out the _Homo superior_  race by suppressing the X-gene, forcing him into exile lest he be rendered powerless also.

Him, and his seventy-two loyal followers.

Now all dead.

The cryogenics hadn’t sustained them; power had been cut to more than half, the carry-on effect killing dozens more within the first century of their slumber.

The rest simply hadn’t survived the revival sequence.

He was alone.

Alone in a world just beginning to come back from the edge of barbarity.

The man smiled grimly, more of a feral snarl than any true expression of mirth.

The unevolved were still in power, the New Humans still a marginalised minority.

He would bring this world to order, and rule it as it should be ruled – by those who are  _better_.


	6. The Desert Grows Cold at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part filler, part relationship building, part foreshadowing.
> 
> Enjoy!

**The Desert Grows Cold at Night**

 

While everyone was busy getting settled in, Pike went to explore the staff offices.  He still needed to read through what Starfleet wanted them to do with this place – as the benefactor of the Academy, they had control over the curriculum and teaching staff.  The only way he and Amanda Grayson had been able to get positions as teachers in this place, was through their connections to Starfleet.

The offices were on the level below the dormitories, bright white plastiglass half-walls and transparent aluminium dividing the workspaces.  The furniture was mostly white as well, as were the stacks of dataPADDs provided.

Whoever designed this place must have had a fetish.

Christopher Pike, as ‘headmaster’ of the school, was assigned one of the larger offices up the back, one with a full-length transparent aluminium front wall with variable opacity.  Blank walls on the other three sides offered the possibility of hanging holos or artwork, in an attempt to bring some life to the sterile white environment.  The large desk was empty but for the dataPADDs holding student files and other administrative data, leaving space for a statuette, or perhaps some kind of paperweight.  Anything to make this place feel more welcoming.

At least the chairs were comfortable, he thought as he sat down behind the desk.  He was mostly curious about the curriculum Starfleet had assigned them, and what they planned to do with the students.  Pike wasn’t an idiot – he knew the majority of humans were hostile towards what they termed ‘mutants’, a throwback term from the early 21st century.  Starfleet was risking its public standing by associating themselves with the New Humans, but that was probably why they set up the school in the middle of nowhere in the first place.  But what did they want?  Starfleet might be a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t have their own agenda.

Pulling up the relevant files on one of the PADDs, Pike settled down for a long session of reading.

Damn bureaucrats.

This might take a while.

 

Meanwhile, the teenagers were getting settled in and acquainted.

After spending a few minutes longer arranging his room to his liking, Spock exited the male dormitory area, to find the common room in chaos.

“Guys, guys – watch this!”

One boy flicked his wrist, and a burst of flame wrapped itself about his hand, sending another boy with lurid green eyes, holding a small pot plant, scurrying away.  A pale girl sitting next to him rolled her eyes, flicking her wrist in turn, sending a blast of frost at the fire boy. 

Uhura, a slim blonde girl, and the Orion – Gaila – were sitting in the dining area, giggling at something one of them had said.  A number of others were sitting in front of the holoscreen, none of them truly attentive to the channel, more focused on their individual conversations.  The news was turned on low volume, displaying a young woman standing in front of a smoking building.

_“In other news, another act of terrorism has been committed by the group that calls themselves ‘The Brotherhood’.  The event started as a peaceful protest at the London Federation Headquarters, ending in tragedy when the New Human gang launched an unprovoked attack upon the building.”_

Jim’s voice drew Spock’s attention away from the report, as he talked animatedly with some of the boys from before – Chekov, Scotty, and Sulu – using his arms as much as his words to convey meaning.  A short girl was sneaking up behind him, with the obvious intent of plucking one of his feathers.

Four quick strides brought him beside the girl just as she reached up, and he tugged her away by the scruff of her collar.  Jim caught the action out of the corner of his eye, glancing over his shoulder with a grin, greeting Spock and turning to the short girl,

“Just a piece of advice – don’t try to sneak up on anybody with psychic abilities.  Won’t work, will it, Spock?”  Another brilliant grin was directed at him, while the girl departed, looking disgruntled.

He simply raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the rest of the group.  They all seemed a little uncertain of how to act around him.  There were a few awkward seconds of silence that left Spock wondering whether he should just retire to his room.  He wasn’t entirely sure what caused him to come back out in the first place.

“So, what do you think, Spock?  I don’t think the dilithium chambers could handle that kind of pressure, the ionisation’d be too great.”

Jim directed the others’ attention back to the conversation, at the same time drawing Spock in, welcoming him.  It was an odd experience – he didn’t think he’d ever been truly welcomed by anyone other than his parents.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced over at Jim.  Perhaps he  _could_  make a friend here.

 

_Damn Admiralty!_

Pike paced his office, barely containing his anger as he waited for the comm to connect.  They wanted to weaponise the children!  Why on earth else would they assign courses like  _Defensive and Offensive Control_ , or  _Stealth Operations_?  Not to mention the emphasis on military tactics and discipline.  Sure, there were courses designed to help them gain control and expand their powers, and courses on reaching their full potential as New Humans – but couple that with the rest, and Starfleet’s agenda becomes clear as day.

“Captain Pike.  I trust you and the children are settling in well?”   The call finally connected, to the only Admiral that Pike couldn’t yell at. 

They probably did that on purpose.

“Admiral Archer.  Yes sir, everything’s running smoothly so far.”

“You look agitated, son.  What’s eating you?”  The wrinkled face scrunched up further in concern, the mind behind those eyes just as sharp as ever.

“Defensive and Offensive Control?  Military tactics and training?  What are you setting these kids up for, Admiral?  They’re not soldiers, they’re  _people_ ,” Pike glanced back at the PADD he held in his hand, “And it says here the Starfleet scientists have orders to examine and synthesize their abilities!  This is just a whole new level of wrong, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”

“I agree with you, son,” the Admiral replied, surprising Pike, “I was out-voted though, on the examination of their abilities.  I _did_  however ensure there was at least some academia in there.”

“Great, so the kids can learn physics and read Shakespeare, and tinker all they like in the Engineering lab – doesn’t excuse the rest of it.”

“Captain – Chris,” the old man centred his gaze on Pike, “We’re on the verge of war.  The Klingon Empire is getting more confident in its exploits – they’ve attacked our ships along the border, and seem set on expanding into Federation space.  They view us humans as weak, fragile.  Until we can prove them otherwise, they won’t stop the incursions.  We’re on the brink.  We need these tests, we need to see if we can synthesise their abilities into our technology, else we won’t stand a chance when they finally challenge us outright.”

Pike was still uncertain, but the Admiral’s philosophy was an ingrained part of the Federation – the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.  Vulcan ideology had shaped their dealings with most lifeforms, and hell if he didn’t agree with them most of the time.  But these kids deserved better.

“Fine.  But I want to be there for all their tests – I want to make sure these kids are being treated well,” he shook is finger at the Admiral, voice stern and face serious, “They deserve to be treated right, after so many have treated them badly.”

The Admiral nodded sadly, well aware of the stigma surrounding the New Humans.  His own granddaughter, barely ten years old, caused havoc with her ability to control artificial light sources.  He could always tell when she was upset, because the lights flickered like crazy.

Like they did almost every single day she came home from school.

“I’ll see what I can do, Captain,” he promised, “Archer out.”

Pike could only sigh, and hoped to god that his gut feeling would turn out to be wrong.

Because otherwise, shit was going to rain down like the fires of Hades upon these poor kids.

 

Their first night together probably set the stage for their entire stint at this school.

Jim surveyed the room with an exasperated smirk, as the groups formed around him.  There were a couple of antisocial kids seated by themselves in their respective corners, thoroughly ignoring anyone who attempted to converse with them.  There was a group of girls – Uhura, Gaila, a blonde girl who had introduced herself as Christine, and the short-arse who had tried to pluck him earlier – then there were a handful of kids who had already termed themselves the “Elementals” – the kid with the pot plant, the idiot who kept juggling his fireballs, the British-accented ice queen, and the giggly girl who could apparently control the air flow, and was currently kicking up a breeze throughout the common room.  The boys he’d been getting acquainted with before – Scotty, Sulu and Chekov – were sprawled across one couch, yammering on about warp drives again, Bones was busy making himself a cup of coffee, and a bunch of others that he hadn’t talked with yet were crowded around the holoscreen, apparently having found the movie stash.

But there was one missing.

Spock was nowhere to be seen.

Poor guy probably didn’t feel overly comfortable, surrounded by strangers.  Heck, he’d lived in an emotionally-repressed society for pretty much all his life, so this rowdy bunch of teenagers probably wasn’t good for his mental health.

Jim decided to go check on Spock, assuming he’d be in his room, but a knock on the door and a hacked keypad later revealed that the Vulcan wasn’t present.

Huh.  Where could he have gotten off to?

The thought briefly crossed his mind that maybe the boy wanted to be left alone, but Jim quickly dismissed it.  Doesn’t matter who you are, you always need a friend.  He hadn’t realised how important having at least one good friend really was until he’d moved in with Chris Pike.  The man could be a bit uptight at times, and definitely had a thing for discipline (that disappointed look always hurt far more than the beatings he’d suffered as a kid), but once you got to know him he was a pretty stand-up guy.

Jim left the common room without anyone even glancing in his direction, going to lean up against the railing outside.  Now, where would a reclusive little Vulcan go hide if he wanted some quiet-time?

Jim pulled the little map they’d been given on the shuttle over out of his pocket, scanning the little labels that denoted the main purposes for each floor.  There was some interesting stuff – engineering labs, a big eating area, gyms and a rec room, a library--

 _Hey_.  A library.

The map was shoved back into its pocket as he hoisted himself over the railing, stretching his wings out.  Elevator?  Who needs an elevator?  A grin stretched his cheeks as he eyed the drop.  The sensation of an uncontrolled descent was exhilarating.  But there really wasn’t room for that here.

The fall was short, the drop pushing the air through his clothes and hair, a sudden halt as his wings caught him just as he reached the floor he was looking for, a few quick beats bringing him down in front of the door.  The library was near the bottom on the complex, a level up from the rec rooms and gyms, half of the floor taken up by the computer labs and archives, and a few rows of the almost-redundant printed volumes.

And that  _smell_.

Jim inhaled deeply as he entered, loving that mixture of new-building-smell and old-book-new-book-smell and the slight scent of ozone as the air was heated by electricity flowing through the computer systems.  The ceiling was high, just like with all the other levels, a few tall shelves stacked with books reaching for the ceiling in the corner, while other shelves mirrored them at the far wall, filled with teaching materials and spare equipment, and loads of unopened boxes.  Twenty computers were grouped in the centre, looking a little lonely in the middle of the floor.  It looked as if space had been left for more units, perhaps if the school planned to accumulate more students over the years.

Half forgetting what he’d come here for in the first place, Jim was inexorably drawn towards the rows of books, most new, some old, most educational, some fictional.  The oldest books appeared to be kept right up the back of the space, as far from reckless hands as possible, shelves protected by a thin sheet of transparent aluminium, which could be slid back in order to gain access to those precious pages.

It was here, tucked away right in the farthest corner of the library, that Jim found who he was looking for.

 

Spock was sitting cross-legged in his most preferred meditation position, eyes closed as he inhaled the scent of the aged paper around him.  He’d found this place almost by accident, in a search for a more suitable meditation area than his room in the dormitories, where the thin walls did nothing to block the vocal and mental shouting of his new housemates.  The idea of a library with actual, physical  _books_  was a fascinating concept to him.  He had found the aroma of the tomes to be strangely relaxing.  The peaceful nature of the library, coupled with the effect that the smell had on him, made this area a logical place in which to meditate.

And he truly required meditation after the events of this day.

When he and his mother had arrived on Earth, they had debarked in San Francisco, the home of Starfleet Headquarters and Academy. 

He had - for lack of a better term -  _hated_  it there.  It was cold, wet, and miserable, the city being in the throes of winter, a concept barely conceived of on Vulcan, which was almost eternally hot.  He had been relieved that they had spent little time there, his mother only stopping to visit some old acquaintances that lived in the city.  Soon, they were off again, a shuttle flight lasting seven point two hours, taking them into Sydney, the largest city in Australia, the country that they would now reside in.

This environment was much more acceptable.

The city had been in the midst of a heatwave when they had arrived, temperatures soaring to a balmy forty degrees Celsius, weather which was comfortable for a Vulcan, if not ideal.  Of course, being equipped for desert life, Vulcans were able to control their body temperature to suit extremes between sixty degrees Celsius and zero degrees of the same scale. 

The desert grows cold at night.  It always does.

His mother had utilised his aid in helping unpack her belongings in their new house, his own suitcases remaining closed for the most part - he wouldn’t be staying long.  Neither would Amanda, for that matter, but she would be returning to the apartment much more often than he.

They had arrived late, because despite his reminding her of the current time and the amount of time necessary to travel to the arranged meeting place, she had insisted that they had plenty of time to spare.

Not so.

To his displeasure, they were the last to arrive.  Rarely had he ever been late to anything, and never when it was so important to convey a positive first impression.  Illogical as it was, many peoples’ lasting opinions were formed during their first meeting with a new individual.

And he had been tardy.

A deep breath in, and a slow release washed away any remaining irritation over the event.   _Kaiidth_.  What is, is.  There was no logic in continuing to be discontent.

They had been greeted by a human boy approximately his own age, pleasant enough, and obviously restraining himself from touching them casually as so many humans were wont to do, thus revealing that he had enough sense to have researched Vulcan manners.

Truly, he had not thought much of the boy at their first encounter, but after discerning a genuine - if not specific - positive reaction towards him, curiosity had started to bloom in the young Vulcan’s chest.

The other humans he had interacted with so far had also displayed a generally positive attitude towards him as well.  They all appeared to be - what was the human word? - friendly. 

Underneath their outgoing attitudes though, Spock could sense a common distrust of strangers.  They had all suffered in their lives, and all had trouble trusting new people, but it appeared that humans could see the logic in building positive connections better than their Vulcan equivalents.  Positive connections encourage individuals to work and live together in a more peaceful manner, and allow disputes to be solved amicably.

But Spock couldn’t help but feel a little melancholy at the thought that as soon as they had settled in, few, or perhaps none, would feel any obligation to interact with him.  He was an extremely introverted character - always had been.  His differences had always set him apart, even more so when it was revealed that he had an active X-gene, granting him abilities far beyond the norm of either species. 

And since the death of his father, he had seldom spoken to anyone other than his mother.

The stab of pain that followed the memory of his  _sa-mehk_  was muted by time, but still undeniably present.  The link between parent and child was an integral part of a Vulcan child’s upbringing; if either died before their time, the severed bond would irrevocably alter the survivor.

This fractured bond, along with the hardships he suffered at school, were what led to his attempt to depart this life not yet two months past.

Not even sixteen standard years of life, and he had already grown weary of the experience.

His mother was correct though, in her assumption that this school would bring some change to his life.  He still was not certain whether it would completely renew his will to live, but so far it had muted his desire for the everlasting sleep.

Deep breaths, in, out, concentrate on the air flow.  Remove yourself from the physical distractions of the world, retreat into the mental strata of the psychic bands, the layers of consciousness that separate the body from the  _katra_.  Therein, one shall find their peace.

A foreign scent tickled his sensitive olfactory receptors, a curiously familiar aroma that summoned forth images of sunshine, dust, of airborne creatures.  This scent too, was calming, but in a different way to the books around him.  It summoned forth an almost warm sensation in his abdomen.

“Hey, Spock!”

His consciousness was pulled upwards from the recesses of his thoughts, in a sensation similar to falling upwards, or perhaps outwards.  He cracked one eye open to observe the one who interrupted his meditation, the voice familiar from the first consonant.

James Kirk.  Of course.

“Greetings, James,” Spock replied, an eyebrow tilted in consideration.  Why would the boy seek him out?  If indeed, he was seeking him out at all.  The hope that had bubbled up at the human’s appearance was quickly doused as he realised that Jim was probably only interested in the books that surrounded them.

“I was just wondering where you got off to,” he continued, eliciting another raised eyebrow from Spock.  Truly?  But humans were infamous for bending the truth.  Jim’s statement could be some fabrication, or perhaps a recount of an only fleeting consideration as to his whereabouts.

“So, what’re you up to, Spock?”  A raised eyebrow was being directed at him now, as those vivid cerulean irises examined him.  Spock found himself momentarily distracted by their depths, before answering in a slightly distant tone,

“I required meditation.  The living quarters were far too… loud for my needs.”

“That’s cool.  I tried meditating, once.  Did not do a damn thing for me,” he smirked, shaking his head slightly.  The seemingly infinite range of human expressions of emotion was proving so far to be a fascinating feat to observe.  Not that Vulcans didn’t have their own emotional tells.  But those were much harder to discern and interpret.  These humans were so open, yet so closed, projecting emotions by way of communication as much as expression.

The golden-haired teenager crouched in front of him tilted his head exactly twenty point three degrees to the left, a thoughtful expression touching those sapphire eyes,

“Say, Spock.  Do you play chess?”

 

***

 

The first month seemed to fly by at warp factor 8.  Before they knew it, they were accidentally calling their underground haven ‘home’, some embracing the term in recompense for their less homely origins.  Others were finding that they missed their friends and family less than they expected, all enjoying their newfound peers and friends that seemed to understand them so much better than anyone they used to know.

Their classes had started on the third day, the Monday, with a wide range of courses – Military Tactics, Control, Theoretical Physics, Classic Literature, Design and Technology, Computer Technology, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Combat with various forms of weaponry, and a whole bunch more.  All New Humans seemed to be intellectually and physically superior to their more ordinary counterparts, the majority already enrolled in university courses before their admittance to the SANH.  They revelled in the chance to explore their full potential, to push themselves farther than they’d ever dared before.

Jim was almost instantly the most popular male, earning everyone’s affection through his effervescent charm and good looks.  It also helped that he seemed to care about everyone, always willing to help, to guide, to join in.  But it was clear to everyone that, at times, his ever-present grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, his good humour seeming a bit strained, so they also gave him space when he needed it.

At those times, Spock was the only one who could make that smile genuine again.

“Check,” the exotic creature sitting across from him raised an eyebrow, every line, every angle, somehow conveying amusement without any flicker of expression upon his face.

It was the eyes, Jim decided.  Those eyes told him everything.

They had quickly become good friends in the first week, despite their opposing temperaments.  Spock preferred the quiet, seemed to hate it when the noisy teenagers started to crowd him, while Jim revelled in the attention.  Spock always thought through things rationally before making any decision ( _any_  decision – that includes what to eat for breakfast, and whether it was a good idea to plug in the spinny rotor blades before they’d screwed them in tight), while Jim’s spontaneous energy and seemingly bottomless well of good luck encouraged him to follow through with whatever crazy plans would flit through his mind.

But whenever one needed the other, they were always there.

Jim would always stand between Spock and the crowd, keeping the easily-overwhelmed Vulcan from coming into contact with too many people.

Spock would always follow Jim on his wild schemes, making sure that at least  _some_  safety procedures were employed.

In fact, many would have thought they were in some kind of romantic relationship, if it weren’t for Jim’s flirtatious attitude towards everyone (yes,  _everyone_ ), and Spock’s complete lack of obvious emotion.

Jim moved a piece without thinking, seeing that Spock was trying to lead him into a trap, and just completely bypassing it.  His move provoked another raised eyebrow, as Spock studied the board intently.

They were in the Rec Room, a largish room on the lowest floor, filled with comfortable chairs, scattered tables, a few bookcases, and some holoscreens hooked up to various gaming consoles.  If money had been an issue, then Starfleet probably wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, but with the latest replicator technology it was a simple matter to produce the furniture and electronics to keep the energetic teenagers entertained.

The high ceiling stretched ten metres above their heads, plenty of room for flying if either of them so desired.  It was the same for the gyms, and the labs, giving plenty of room for ball-throwing, test flights of Scotty’s crazy inventions, and a couple of flyboys.

That’s what they called them.  The Flyboys.  Pike was convinced Sulu would fit into their little subcategory too, if he could convince him to get behind the shuttle’s controls.  But ever since his sister had died when her shuttle had unexpectedly dived, the youth simply couldn’t entertain the idea of piloting his own.

Spock’s eyes flicked up to Jim’s as he moved his next piece, the silent challenge evident in their chocolate depths.  That look, that expressionless, expressive look – Jim couldn’t help but laugh.

“What amuses you?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he waved his hand, examining the board.  Damn.  Another two moves, and he’s be in checkmate.

“Obviously something must have provoked a reaction from you.”  Tilted head, eyebrow half raised – Spock was teasing him, he was sure.  Well, not sure, damn Vulcan always kept his shields up, but pretty dang certain.  Jim shook his head, still grinning as he dropped his hand to the table, accidentally brushing against the other boy’s hand.

A slight widening of the eyes, a hitch in his breath, and the hand was quickly withdrawn.  Huh?

“What, is hand touching some taboo or something?”  Jim frowned in confusion even as the corners of his mouth twitched upward in amusement.

“Vulcan hands are… sensitive,” Spock spoke quietly, a green tinge colouring the tips of his ears.

Jim’s eyes widened at this, a slow smile stretching across his face, “So what, like, good sensitive?”  He wiggled his eyebrows, causing Spock to frown slightly at him, and remind him that he still had to make his move.

Jim almost misinterpreted that, but then realised, oh right, they were still playing chess.  Moving a knight into some random position, Jim leaned closer, “Any other sensitive areas?”  His trademark flirtatious grin brought another flush of green to Spock’s ears.  Jim was greatly pleased and amused by the effect he had on Spock.

Never once did he consider that Spock might actually be seriously interested.

Heck, the guy seemed to be courting Uhura for one thing.  Or rather, he wasn’t objecting to Uhura’s courting of him.  Who knows?  The guy might be clueless.  Spock did seem like the type to have no idea what was going on when it came to flirting and sex, despite being fifteen.

Despite being possibly the sexiest guy in this joint.

Jim shook those thoughts out of his head before they could take root.  Nah, that was never going to happen.  Must just be his thing for the colour green.

Speaking of which…

Gaila stood out from a mile away, her green skin, fiery hair, and neon-pink cocktail dress a garish splash of colour against the mostly white décor of the institute.  Her eyes immediately sought him out, practically bouncing over when she spotted him.

Jim almost missed the low growl that came from the boy across from him, but when he glanced back at him, nothing was amiss.  Spock made his move with the same carefully measured motions that he had made every other move, eyes looking to him expectantly.

“Hey Jimmy!  Scotty and Ny have been working on something really really awesome, and we really need you to come look at it now, so  _come_!”  She attempted to tug him out of his chair, but Jim resisted when he saw the subtly downcast look to Spock’s face,

“Sure sure, just a minute – I’ve gotta finish this game, I’ll come in a minute,” he flashed a grin at the Orion, trying not to breathe too deeply.  She was making progress in controlling her pheromones, but when she got all excited about stuff, it ended up giving him the weirdest boner.

“Awww, but Jimmy,” she pouted, but he countered with his ‘serious’ expression – which, of course, never lasted more than a few seconds.

Jim laughed, moving another piece into what he  _thought_  would bring him into checkmate with one more move, but then Spock’s nimble fingers danced across the board, moving his bishop, and trapping his own king in checkmate.

“I believe you are free to attend to Miss Vro now,” Spock tilted his head, triumph and disappointment glimmering simultaneously within those expressive eyes.

“Sure you don’t want to come with us?”  Jim was a little torn – Gaila and Spock really didn’t like each other, no matter how much Spock insisted that dislike was a human emotion that he did not experience.  But he couldn’t just leave the guy.

“I must study for our upcoming assessments in Classic Literature and Theoretical Physics,” Spock’s eyes flickered sideways as he spoke, the lack of eye contact (along with the fact that Spock had probably memorised the entire syllabus) telling Jim that Spock just wanted some quiet time.

“Sure.  Whatever you say, buddy,” Jim rolled his eyes, taking Gaila’s proffered arm, “So, what was it you guys were working on?”

“Oh, it’s got to do with ‘Buie, they’re upgrading him…”  Gaila’s voice faded as she and Jim walked away, arm in arm, discussing Scotty’s pet robot dog.  Not once did Jim look back.

If he had, he would have seen Spock rolling Jim’s king in those long fingers, a faintly forlorn expression clouding his otherwise blank face.


	7. One Hell of a Weekend: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendships start emerging
> 
> Bones & Jim & Gaila
> 
> Jim & Spock
> 
> Uhura & Gaila & Chapel
> 
> Sulu & Chekov
> 
> Scotty & the Engineering Lab
> 
> Scotty & the whiskey bottle
> 
> They’ll coalesce as a team when the time is right. But what will they have to go through to overcome their differences? That won’t happen in this chapter. Just a bit of angst, and some more relationship-building. :D
> 
> Also, I have made myself a badass!Chekov, because adorable!Chekov has been done so many times. Don’t get me wrong, I love adorable!Chekov, but I just think he’s got so much potential as a BAMF. :D
> 
>  
> 
> I own the Blue Fedora hacktivists, and the data chips hidden under Chekov's bed.
> 
> I don't own anything recognisably owned by the various people with the rights to Star Trek and various other referenced movies and books.

**One Hell of a Weekend: Part One**

It was Friday, March 26th, exactly a month since their lives had all taken a turn for the better.

And exactly two days before Easter Sunday.

Jim woke with a grin upon his face; one more day of classes, then a four-day break filled with chocolate and fun.

This was going to be one hell of a weekend.

 

Spock woke with his usual sense of calm, until his memory supplied him with the date, and the upcoming events for the next week.  He had never celebrated a Terran Easter before, yet he knew he would not enjoy it.

This was going to be one hell of a weekend.

 

Leonard McCoy (or ‘Bones’ as a certain bird-brain had taken to calling him) was already up, slurping on a giant mug of coffee, when Jim’s sleep-tousled head nudged itself into his field of view,

“Hey, Bonesy.  Got any more of that?”

“On the counter, kid.  I ain’t your mother.”

Jim’s smile seemed to drop a few degrees at the reference to his mother, the tension lasting only a moment before the boy’s usual grin returning to his face as if nothing had happened.  Maybe it hadn’t happened.  Maybe it was just a trick of his eye.

Yeah, and maybe he was a half-assed mule too.

“You okay, kid?”  McCoy’s eyes followed Jim around the kitchenette with concern.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.  Mum’s just a sore spot, that’s all.  You know… she could never really accept me,” Jim replied in a wistful tone with his usual level of perceptivity, knowing exactly what McCoy had meant with his question.  He still hadn’t gotten the hang of this whole ‘shielding’ business, and surrounded as he was by damn mind-readers he supposed it’d be a good idea to actually  _try_.

He gave the boy a sympathetic look, “Yeah, me too, but with my pa instead.  And I saved his sorry ass too,” he added bitterly, taking another swig from his mug.  The two boys sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.

“I used to get along real well with my pa,” McCoy broke the silence, staring intently into his mug as if it held the secrets to the universe.  Hell, maybe it did.

“We weren’t the closest of family, but we used to spend a lot of time together, when he was home.  He’d take me out to all these old country shows, like the rodeo and stuff.  Wanted to instil some good old-fashioned Georgia spirit in me,” he took a swig, the memories coming faster now, “I never really realised how close-minded he was until my powers came out.  But looking back, I can see bits and pieces that I didn’t pick up on at the time.  He was dead-set on me and my sister being religious; when Jo told him she just couldn’t believe in such ‘out-dated ideologies’, he wouldn’t let her back in the house for a week.  I was ten at the time.

“Then there was that time that we got new neighbours, about the time I started middle school.  They had a boy about my age, nice kid, bit clingy if you ask me.  Pa picked up on that.  He forbade me from playing with him, on accounts of him being a ‘fag’,” he shook his head, running a hand through his thick hair, “Poor kid committed suicide a year later.  The Bible Belt still ain’t friendly to people who are different.”

He finally looked up at Jim, expecting some kind of judgement or pity in those azure eyes.

What he didn’t expect was compassion.

“How’d he react when your powers came out, then?”  The kid’s voice was gentle, giving McCoy all of his attention.

He sighed, draining his mug, “He… he thought I was a freak.  That I was some devil’s spawn or something, I guess.  I didn’t end up staying with him much longer though - pretty soon after the accident, he shipped me off to my aunt in Utah.”  He snorted, remembering his first encounter with his Aunt Gabby.  He’d thought she was going to be some terrifying twin of his father, all wrath-of-God and hell bent on setting him straight.  Turned out she’d changed a hell of a lot since his pa had last spoken to her - she said she’d found the ‘True God’, and He was accepting of all His creations.

He was damn fond of Aunt Gabby.  He should really get around to comm-ing her more often.

Jim’s mouth stretched into a forced imitation of a smirk, “Well, my mum was never really around enough to be of much use.  She could hardly bear to look at me as I got older - I reminded her far too much of my dad,” he grimaced, resting his chin on one hand as he ran a finger around the edge of his mug, “She married this son of a bitch, Frank, pretty much to just keep an eye on us.  He was an alcoholic, a mean drunk.  Used to… to hurt me and Sam, my brother.  He ran away when he was fourteen, when I was nine, he just couldn’t stand living there any longer.  He told me he couldn’t be a Kirk in that house.

“I don’t know how I survived as long as I did.  There’s a bunch of stuff that… that I’ve never really told anyone.  Not the full story, anyway.  Bits and pieces, never the whole truth.  It hurt too much.”  Jim shrugged, turning his gaze back to McCoy, whose mouth was pressed into a hard grimace, one hand balled into a tight fist.  Heck, he’d only known this kid a month, but damn if he didn’t feel protective of him.  He’d suffered, hell, they’d all suffered because of their differences.  And none of them deserved it.

“Listen, kid… If you ever feel like talking ‘bout it, just… I’m here for you, you know that, right?”  He looked earnestly into those blue eyes, those eyes that shut away Jim’s emotions, hid his true feelings from the world.  His outside might be gruff and irritable, but inside he was a papa bear, wanting to protect everyone around him from ever getting hurt.  It was rather fitting that his powers lent him the ability to heal most wounds, both physical and psychological.  It was all he could do not to just reach over, and try and make it better.

But no, he couldn’t do that without Jim’s permission.  And if Jim couldn’t even talk about it yet, then there was no way he’d let some guy he’d only known a month into his head, with access to his memories.

It was hell, having the power to fix something, and not being able to fix it.

But it was a lesson he had to learn - you couldn’t fix everything, no matter how bad you might want to.

Just then, his PADD dinged, a new message icon appearing in the corner of the screen.  He tapped on it, quickly reading the short message.

“Who’s comm-ing you?”  Jim leaned over, trying to read over his shoulder, but McCoy closed the window before he had the chance,

“Sorry kid, gotta run.  Someone’s expecting me,” he grinned, tucking his chair neatly under the table as he made to leave.  He hesitated for a second though, the grin falling into a more sympathetic smile, “Thanks for sharing with me.  I know it’s hard to talk about that kinda stuff, but trust me, time heals.  The memories will never go away, but things get better with time.”

Jim gave him an odd look, a half-smile quirking the corner of his mouth, “Thanks… Leonard.  Thank  _you_  for sharing, too.”

They shared a grin, each feeling a little bit closer to the other than they had before.  For Jim, he felt like he might’ve finally found someone to fill the hole that Sam had left all those years ago.  For McCoy, he felt like he’d found the younger brother he’d always wanted.

But Bones was expected elsewhere.  That little message had left a warm feeling in his stomach, completely different to the warmth he’d felt in Jim’s presence a few moments before.

Gaila was waiting for him.

 

Jim was left standing in the small dining area, jumbo mug in hand, an amused grin on his face.  Bones was terrible at shielding.  And even if he wasn’t, Jim could recognise that kind of excitement from a mile away.

“Hey, Jim,” Sulu was the next to appear, a sleepy Chekov in tow.  Jim had noticed Chekov sneaking out of Sulu’s room plenty of times in the small hours of the morning, looking slightly dishevelled.  He had his suspicions, but unless Chekov was some kind of master manipulator, he didn’t see Sulu letting the boy get up to  _too_  much mischief.

“Hey, Chulu,” he smirked.  Their couple name always pissed Sulu off, but Chekov loved it, as proven by the giant, albeit sleepy, grin on his face.  They obviously hadn’t slept that much last night.

“Hey, Spirk,” Sulu retorted, drawing a snort from Jim,

“Firstly, we are  _not_  a couple.  Secondly, that only counts if we’re both here.”

“What is ‘Spirk’?”  Spock’s dulcet tones sounded from behind them, causing the Chulu to jump in unison, “And what is ‘Chulu’?”

Jim smirked, spinning a chair around and straddling it, “Well, when two people are in a romantic relationship, it is customary to make up some collective nickname for them.  In the case of these two,” he gestured, “Ch-Chekov and S-ulu makes Chulu.”

A raised eyebrow, “I see… And ‘Spirk’?”

“Sulu was just teasing,” he threw a glare at the boy in question.  Not that he wouldn’t mind, but he was pretty darn certain that the iceblock wasn’t into him.

Not that he was an iceblock.  More like a little campfire surrounded by a wall of clear ice.  One that you could sometimes see through, to glimpse the flame inside.

“…Fascinating,” was all the response he got, as Spock set about preparing himself breakfast.  Only Jim could tell he was amused by the concept of couple names.  Amused, and a little bit of something else…

“Hey – I haf just realised!” Chekov suddenly looked more awake – possibly something to do with the pot of coffee sitting in front of him, “Eet is Easter zis veekend!”

Around the table, there were two grins, an amused chuckle, and one decidedly unimpressed frown.

“I do not see the logic in celebrating a holiday which began as a Terran fertility celebration, appropriated by a Terran religion as the day of resurrection of a deity, and is now only an excuse for a respite and the gorging of oneself on confectionary goods of little nutrients.”

Yeah, the Vulcan was not amused.

Sulu was the one to speak up, “Spock, humans love their celebrations.  And their chocolate.  Have you ever had chocolate?  It is the most fantastic thing in the world!” 

Spock looked torn between debating the issue of ‘the most fantastic thing in the world’, and getting to class on time.  The start of the school day would commence in twenty minutes, and he had yet to brush his teeth.

Jim saved him the trouble, “Oops, look at the time.  Discussion tabled for the time being, you guys can pester him later.”  He guided Spock away, the Vulcan throwing him a grateful look as he went to retrieve his toiletries.

Silly Vulcan.

What was so wrong with chocolate?

 

This day heralded the arrival of the last of the Academy’s staff - a few Starfleet scientists, hell bent on figuring out what made them tick, a Betazoid engineer with theories on how to combine psionics and machines, and a combat instructor.  Finally, some fun.

The combat instructor was tall and heavy-set, with a brown mop of short, curly hair tickling his ears.  Cold, grey eyes watched the teenagers as they filed into the gym, its faux-wood-panelled floors covered with foam mats, ready for the inevitable rough-and-tumble that would transpire.

The kids that had some combat training had been separated from those who had none.  Sulu had opted to place himself in the advanced class, even though he  _technically_  hadn’t had any training - his natural proficiency needed only be refined.  The others in the advanced class (which also included Spock, Jim, and another boy) were all surprised to see Chekov there - the adorable blonde fourteen-year-old didn’t look like he could hurt a fly, let alone fight a full-grown human.  They weren’t as surprised to see Gaila entering behind him though - she could be pretty badass when she wanted to be.

“Alright kids, form a line.  I’ll need to see what kind of levels you’re at before I can start teaching,” he announced in gruff tones, examining each of them in turn.  They shuffled into something that resembled a line, Gaila, Jim and Spock ending up at one end, and a kid called Matt, Chekov and Sulu forming the end of the line.

The instructor eyed Gaila with some incredulity, not quite believing this young, green-skinned woman could be capable of much.

“Alright then.  Let’s see what you can do.”  He shifted into a defensive stance, beckoning his half-Orion opponent forward.  She walked up to him casually, not even bothered to switch into a fighting stance, just bouncing on her toes as she started to circle him.  Her eyes flickered around the man’s figure, analysing her larger opponent.

She shifted without warning, suddenly seeming to transform from a cuddly kitten to a dangerously sexy tigress.  Her feet were placed farther apart, one knee bent, one hand on the ground in front of her as her teeth flashed in an almost menacing grin, equal parts alluring and terrifying. 

The instructor stumbled one step backwards at this sudden transformation, eyebrows rising on his forehead, before Gaila burst forward, taking a running leap and somersaulting over his head, landing in her feet behind him as she twisted around to give him a swift kick in the kidneys.  The instructor found himself on the ground with the Orion girl straddled on top of him, absolutely no way of defending himself.

So he reacted offensively.

“That’s cheating!”  He focused on shallow breaths, fully aware of Orion pheromones, “I need to assess your  _combative_ capabilities.  Not manipulative abilities.”

“These  _are_  my combative capabilities,” she positively growled in return, levering herself up, “I learned to fight using my natural abilities.”  She bounced off to the end of the line, whipping her hair about in an indignant  _hmph!_

The instructor sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as the girl’s pheromones dissipated.  Why on Earth had he agreed to this?  He could be on a starship, exploring the stars, but  _nooo_ , he had to go take the job with the extra pay.

Just think of the money, Bob.  You’ll only be here for a few months.

The next up was a cocky-looking blonde kid, with bloody great  _wings_  attached to his back.  He’d seen aliens with wings before, but never had he seen a human running around with those fluffy extra appendages.  Probably screwed up his balance something awful.  He should be able to deal with this kid without too much trouble, right?

Wrong.

The blonde had watched him with amusement in his eyes, starting off the same way the Orion girl had, relaxed posture, but somehow looking ready to spring in whatever direction the moment called for.

_Thwap!_

Damn, this kid was fast!  He hardly saw the foot coming before it connected with the side of his head, sending him stumbling sideways as he attempted to regain his balance.  Another foot flew in his direction, and he just managed to sidestep it, grabbing hold of the boy’s foot and twisting him around, in theory leaving the kid face-down on the ground with his legs trapped.

Theory didn’t include wings.

The kid flapped his wings hard, buffeting the instructor into taking a step backwards, as the boy’s leg shifted in his grip.  Not quite able to lift himself up, the kid resorted to whipping a wing around, hitting the instructor with enough force to make him let go of his foot.

He spun around, launching a few more kicks at the instructor, which he was barely able to dodge, completely on the defensive now.  He tried catching the boy’s foot again, twisting him around, but with a sudden twist that only the double-jointed could manage, the blonde’s foot was free again.

The kid then stepped forward into his personal space, delivering a few quick jabs to his solar plexus, and a knee to his groin.

Damn lucky he’d decided to wear padded clothes and a little bit of armour for the more sensitive places, cos this kid fought dirty.  As it was, he was left wheezing on the ground for a few moments as the blonde moved to the end of the line, a cocky grin on his face.  That kid was going to be fucking irritating later on, he could just tell.

When a Vulcan kid stepped forward next, he almost groaned in exasperation.  He had definitely underestimated these kids, he was certain of it.

This round lasted only a few seconds, the solemn, dark-eyed boy delivering a few well-placed hits seemingly to humour his comment before about “combative capabilities”, before holding him down just by staring at him.  The fuck was this kid doing? 

“Let me up!” he growled at the kid, who looked as impeccable before, as if he had just stepped out of his wardrobe.  Damn Vulcan hadn’t even exerted himself.

“Of course,” there was a very slight quirk to the boy’s lips, before he found himself being lifted up into the air, and dropped in his feet.  He watched the boy move away with some apprehension.  Vulcans couldn’t normally do that, could they?  Must be his ‘mutation’.  Freak.

A relatively normal-looking kid who insisted on introducing himself as Matt stepped up as he hauled himself onto his feet, holding a hand out to help him.  After losing to a bunch of kids already, the instructor wasn’t feeling particularly charitable.  Taking advantage of the proffered hand, he pulled the kid into a headlock,

“Now, show me how you’d get out of this, kid.”

The boy stood completely still, and he could practically hear the cogs turning inside that head covered by a mop of dark red hair.  Then the kid just sort of…  _moved_   _through_  his arm, leaving a really weird sensation behind, like when you hit your elbow just wrong.  The kid spun around with a grin on his face, asking him if he wanted him to do anything else. 

The instructor suspected that this kid was just a little wrong in the head.

After that, the sparring match went as he’d initially expected them to go - the kid had some training, sure, but he wasn’t some kind of superman like the other three so far.  Finally, his first win!  Though he really shouldn’t be thinking about it like that - he was here to assess their capabilities, not get competitive with them.

A Japanese boy was up next, cracking his knuckles with a grin that was, to be truthful, a little intimidating.  This fight lasted longer than the others - the kid seemed unused to hand-to-hand combat, seemed like he almost had no idea what he was doing, but somehow still managed to end up with him on the ground, the teenager standing over him with that scary grin again, something almost predatory in his gaze.

The last one up was this tiny blonde kid, a little  _boy_ , looking innocent and fragile.  He’d go easy on this one - he didn’t doubt the kid had training (he  _did_  doubt the Japanese one, but then again, guy  _had_  beat him), but he was pretty sure that the kid would break if he didn’t reign in his attack.

Wrong.

He didn’t even get a chance to go on the offensive.

Didn’t even get a chance to react.

The kid surged forward without warning, a lightning-fast kick to the jaw spinning him around, then a hand on the shoulder, a twinge of pain, before everything went black.

 

 “ _Dude_!  What did you do?!”

Jim ran up beside him, looking openly amazed.  Chekov couldn’t help but smirk in the face of the teenager’s open astonishment at his skill.  One of the best feelings could be experienced when someone who underestimated you finally realised what you were capable of.

“He delivered a Vulcan nerve pinch to our instructor’s right shoulder,” Spock stepped forward to examine the man before turning his gaze to Chekov, face blank as ever, yet clearly radiating disapproval, “Where did you learn of this technique?”

He scowled slightly at the Vulcan, raising his head and drawing himself up to his full (if relatively small) height,

“I vas, let us say, acquainted, vith ze son of a  _V’tosh Ka’tur_ ,” he stated, not letting any emotions show.  This Vulcan may have been without logic, but he did see the sense in learning to control his emotions and reactions - something which he had also taught Chekov, and which had come in handy in those few times he’d been… caught.

“How did you come to know such an individual?”  Spock’s eyes narrowed, facing him with his hands behind his back, using his (rather significant) height in a subconscious attempt to intimidate him.  Well too bad - Chekov had met a lot more intimidating people, one of which had been the Vulcan boy’s father.

“Ve vorked togezzer on a project,” he replied, mimicking the Vulcan’s stance.  He didn’t care that he was screwing up the adorable-child persona that he’d cultivated in his time here.  It was getting boring anyway.  He did feel a slight twinge at the thought of Hikaru though - he forcibly stopped himself from looking over at him, not wanting to see the confusion and hurt that no doubt was his reaction to the sudden change in attitude from the Russian boy.

The Vulcan held his gaze for a few moments longer, eyes flicking back and forth as he tried to determine the truth of the subject.  Chekov tightened his mental shields, even though he was mostly certain Vulcans were only touch telepaths.  Better safe than sorry.

“You are not who you say you are,” he stated simply, an affirmation not a question.

“Somevhat,” was all he would give the teenager.

“Pavel?  What do you mean?”  Chekov closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in before turning his gaze to Hikaru.  Eyes filled with confusion and hurt met his, driving the breath back out of his chest. 

Yes, against his better judgement, he’d developed… feelings for the boy.  They had spent a lot of time together in the past month, talking and gaming and just hanging out really.  And through it all, he’d learnt so much about Hikaru, and had barely given anything of himself away.  All Chekov had wanted out of this, was to learn to optimise his abilities, nothing else.  He hadn’t counted on making such a close friend along the way.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jim interjected, pushing in front of Spock and Sulu, “Russian, knows a logic-less Vulcan, and from what I’ve seen, is scary good with computers?”

“Da…” Chekov affirmed reluctantly, not sure where this was going.

“Mister Clean Up?”

His eyes widened, and he had to make a physical effort not to take a step back, “How do you know zat name?”

“Dude, it’s me - Captain,” Jim looked ridiculously happy, picking up the fourteen-year-old in a great bear hug, “Dude, you were the best of us!  I had no idea you were so young!”

“Keptin?”  Chekov couldn’t believe it.  One of his old team, here?  What were the chances?

“Aaaaah, yeah, oops.  Cover.  Right,” Jim scratched the back of his neck, looking chagrined as he looked around at the others.  Both of Spock’s eyebrows were raised now,

“The Captain and MisterCleanUp?  Both of the Blue Fedora cyber terrorist group?”

“We prefer ‘hacktivists’” Jim retorted, slinging an arm around Pavel’s shoulder.  Spock looked rather agitated now - for him, at least, which involved a raised eyebrow and clenched hands,

“You are both criminals,” he Vulcan-sputtered.  Which is to say, he looked mildly indignant.

“Ve are grey hat hacktiwists,” Chekov finally managed to get a word in, stepping out from under Jim’s arm, “Ve find holes in national security netvorks, and ve stop criminal actiwities.”

“Ah yeah, like the Russian Mafia.  That was the first time we actually met, remember?  Damn, I just thought you were some short alien or something!”  Jim was definitely not taking this seriously.  Chekov glanced at him with some irritation, before returning his attention to the slightly more worrisome barely-concealed-rage (or perhaps a feeling of betrayal?) emanating from the Vulcan,

“Look, Meester Spock, ve do not target ciwilians, nor do ve attack beneficial organisations.  Ve help protect ze awerage person’s security and rights.”

Spock hesitated, seemingly caught between moral indignation, and the logic of Chekov’s argument,

“Nevertheless, you have broken the law.  You must be reported,” he insisted, swaying to the side in an aborted motion to walk away, as Jim stepped closer to the Vulcan, into his personal space, a slightly pleading expression on his face,

“Dude, I’m still me.  I haven’t changed.  That stuff was in the past, and anyway, we really  _were_  helping people.  We disabled the Russian Mafia’s online branch, we took down the Humans First hacker group – now  _those_ guys were criminals, not us.  They destroyed the livelihoods of thousands of non-humans living on Earth.  We never harmed ordinary people, Spock.  Surely you can realise that.”

Throughout his small speech, Jim had held the Vulcan’s gaze, never letting him look away, practically broadcasting his sincerity.  And Spock’s gaze had softened, his non-expression morphing from accusation into… understanding.  Jim would never harm an innocent. He knew that.

A groan sounded from behind the group, everyone looking over in unison to see their instructor levering himself into an upright position, massaging his neck as he blinked blearily at them,

“Ok, you have _got_  to teach me that,” he smirked slightly at Chekov.

There their ‘lesson’ ended, the instructor citing his need to move on to what he called the ‘Noob class’, ushering them on to their next destination: Lunch break.

 

***

 

This age was plagued by weakness.

Technology had advanced to the point where there was no competition for survival, no pressure to separate the weak from the strong, no evolutionary progress; simply the re-emergence of the genes suppressed centuries past.

He watched the crowds of ordinary folk flow around him, standing still as a fixed boulder in the midst of a raging river.  He could sense them around him, their hopes, their desires, their fears.  This area wasn’t so infested by the offworlders that had infected other parts of the city, yet there was still the occasional alien mixed in with the throng.

Their minds were different.  Harder to sense.  Warped.

His curiosity warred with his hatred of weakness, wanting to learn more about the aliens that had integrated themselves into the population, yet knowing that even they were not worthy of this planet.

Perhaps when he was done cleansing the Earth of the less evolved, he would allow the stronger and more intelligent of other species to co-inhabit with the New Humans.  It would be interesting to see how the X-gene abilities could mix with the exotic strengths of alien life.

But first, he must gain allies, for what he had planned for this city could not be achieved by one man alone, no matter his superiority.

He closed his eyes, sifting through the minds of the crowds around him.  No one paid him any notice, too wrapped up in their own insignificant lives to wonder what the strangely clothed man was doing in the middle of the square.

 _There_.

They were so few and far between, and those with power had little skill. 

But there was one, not too far from here, a middle-aged man with connections to an organisation called The Brotherhood.  He remembered the original society, the ones who instigated the Battle of Alcatraz, the Mutant Revolution.  The fool in charge had let loose the Phoenix, causing irreversible damage to both sides, the panicking humans leading to the widespread administration of the “cure”, negating that which made the New Humans superior.

He would take command of this present-day incarnation of the organisation, and lead it on the path of victory over those who had long rejected them, shunned them, refused them their rights.

Oh, yes.  The humans would have their due.  This he promised them.

It took some work, but eventually he was able to win them over.  Their leader had thrown down the gauntlet, the woman’s psionic strength presenting him with an invigorating challenge.  It was a good fight, and she a worthy opponent.  It was truly unfortunate that she would not submit to him - he could have used an ally like her.

He had to dedicate himself to the task of organising the ragtag bunch of New Humans, still stuck in the stigma of calling themselves ‘mutants’.  They had to be told that their actions so far were not enough to convince the public of their superiority - they must take control, and cleanse the Earth of the scum that currently ruled them. 

To create, they must first destroy.

To start anew, first they must cleanse with fire.


	8. One Hell of a Weekend: Part Two - Kaiidth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: When Chekov’s talking, replace all v’s with w’s and w’s with v’s where appropriate, and most z’s with th’s. I’m trying to stay true to his accent, but it’s hard to be legible in some sentences XD
> 
> Same goes for Scotty. I’m sorry for my atrocious accent transliterations.
> 
> Also, there’s a handful of references scattered around. See if you can spot them :D
> 
> The song used towards the end of this chapter is On Top of the World by Imagine Dragons, and it is one of the happiest songs I know. I was experimenting with the format there. Tell me if I was awful, and I will never do it again, but it’s staying there as is for now.
> 
> Now introducing Arcadii(a reviewer on KSArchive)'s OC, Marlie!

**One Hell of a Weekend: Part Two - Kaiidth**

 

Not everything can be accomplished with haste.  For the best, most truly devastating results, one must be patient.

And it is patience that is slowly killing him.

“What do you mean, they won’t listen?  You will  _make_ them listen!”

Not literally, of course.  There are few things that could kill him, none of which would operate slowly.

As the room emptied again, he allowed himself a small moment of weakness, rubbing a hand across his face.  A small tear rolled down his cheek, so small that if anyone were there to see it, they would have thought their eyes had deceived them.

His family was dead.

His wife was dead.

And he was surrounded by fools.

His plans were coming to fruition, if not quite as fast as he had hoped.  At times, he asked himself why he even bothered.  He was in a new time, essentially a new world, where none of his old enemies… or friends… existed. 

But then he would turn his attention back to the modern news, the holovids that were making New Humans as despised as they were in the 21st century, the public turning their backs upon their more evolved brethren.  Disasters not caused by the New Humans were being blamed upon them, murderers and lunatics were being associated with them, and there was yet again public outcry, a call for the old “Mutant Registration Act” to be reinstated. 

In a time where the people of many worlds walked the Earth, it was amazing that the humans could still be so prejudiced.

It set a deep-burning fire in his belly, an anger and moral indignation that his people were being attacked without cause.  Where there was uncontrolled violence, it was the cause of a strict minority, not the vast majority.  Where there was senseless death and destruction at their hands, it was the lunatics and psychopaths, not the ordinary citizens.  Place a gun in a man’s hand, and see what he does; that was the nature of these tragedies.

But now, the humans must be taught a lesson, just like one would punish a child by taking away their toys.  Their places of government must be taken away, their hold upon the public broken.  The reporters would be the first to go.  They, who had turned the public against them.  Then, they would move upon those in power.

If they did not submit to the authority of their superior cousins, then he would have no choice.

War would be declared upon humankind.

Those who would not submit would not survive.

He felt uneasy about this resolution, but he knew it was for the greater good.  The prejudice of their lesser cousins would destroy them, and survival of the species was a must.

And then there was the old adage;

‘Survival of the Fittest’;

Well, they shall see.  They shall see who was the fitter species to be given control of this world.

Only then, could there be peace.

Only then, could he be reunited with his family.

 

***

The dining hall was just as white, if not whiter, than the rest of the facility.

Seriously, it hurts your eyes sometimes, Jim thought as he trailed behind the rest of the guys to the lunchroom.  Big, white and shiny seemed to be Starfleet’s M.O.

Scotty was already there, waiting for them, a big platter of sandwiches in front of him.  He’d been given a little more freedom (i.e. free periods) than the rest of the teenagers, given the fact that he was 18, and a legal adult, and that they weren’t _technically_  in a military environment. 

“Hey!  Ah’ve been wondering when you lad’s would get here!”

“Oi!  Bright green and you still miss me?” Gaila smacked his arm in mock irritation at being lumped in with the boys.

“Ah yes, how could I forget ye?  You’re like a rose in the snow in this place,” he winked, scooting over to give her room to sit down.  Jim rolled his eyes at their interaction, knowing that Bones would be fuming to see those two flirting like that.  He hadn’t quite caught on to the fact that Gaila flirted with  _everyone_ , that she really didn’t see him any differently, despite Bones’s infatuation with her.  His heart was going to get broken soon, Jim could tell.

The news was playing in the background, the radio barely audible over the sudden rush of noise from the group of teenagers that entered the room;

“ _Two skeletons were discovered today in Central Park, New York.  Current suspicion lies with the New Human population, due to the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the skeletons, each burned beyond recognition.  More on this story on the 5 o’clock news.”_

Jim muted the radio as he passed, finally making his way over to where everyone was now sitting, slapping Scotty on the back, “Oi, Scotty!  Where’ve you been this past week?  I was starting to think you’d abandoned us!”

Scotty waved his hand dismissively, “Oh, this an’ that.  Ah’ve been making a surprise fer the party tonight.”

Jim did a double take, a slow grin spreading across his face, “Wait, there’s a party tonight?”  He’d been planning on starting some romp in the common room anyway, and there was the rumoured day trip to Alice Springs on Saturday, but an actual party?  Dude:  _Awesome._

“Damn…” Scotty ducked his head contritely, “Ah wasn’t supposed t’ mention that, was I?”

 

On the other side of the table, Chekov and Sulu were in a quiet, yet heated discussion,

“I am sorry for not telling you!  But I am not sorry for vhat I haf done!  I may be technically a criminal, but I alvays tried to do good!”

“No, you don’t get it, do you?  We’ve been together for three weeks, and all of a sudden I discover you’re not even who I thought you were!  I don’t care about the legality of what you’ve done, it’s irrelevant whether you’ve helped or hurt people in the past, I’m talking about honesty and trust!”

“Look, ve haf not ewen been togezzer zat long, you vouldn’t know much about me anyvay.”

“Yeah, but turns out what I do know about you is a lie.”

“I haf not lied about everyzing!  I do love all zhose holowids, and games, and hot chocolate, and chess, and math, and everyzing!  I did not ewen tell you much about my past, but I vas not lying about my family either.”

Sulu gave him an uncertain look, not sure whether to believe the young Russian.  He hated being lied to, was amazed that he couldn’t even tell the boy had been lying - more evidence to say he was used to doing so - but he couldn’t help but find that new, confident Chekov he’d seen in the gyms… attractive.  He probably would have liked that Chekov too, had he known him from the start.  But now they had to start from scratch.

“Look… Pav, okay, I forgive you.  But I don’t know if I can trust you, not knowing whether you’re just pretending, whether you’re lying, or whether you’re actually telling the truth.”

“I svear!  I svear zat I vill not lie to you again!  I svear upon my  _mamochka_ ’s dowry zat I vill not lie!”  Chekov held his hand over his heart, determined to make this right.

They smiled tentatively at eachother, both willing to make a fresh start.  This was beginning to be one hell of a weekend.

 

Spock watched the human (and Orion) interactions detachedly, separated slightly from the group by an interval of one empty seat, on the other side of Gaila.  He expected Jim to sit in the other spare seat next to Scotty, given his ongoing dialogue with the man, leaving him in agreeable, yet unpreferred, relative solitude.

Yet, as always, Jim chose not to conform to his expectations.

Jim came over to sit in the space between himself and Gaila, continuing his conversation with Scotty after throwing a brief hello in Spock’s direction.  Spock still wasn’t accustomed to being held in high enough regard to be given a greeting when one wasn’t socially required, let alone for someone to choose to sit next to him.

He still was not used to this, even though Jim had been consistently showing him regard equal to, if not greater than that which he showed others.  Perhaps because he still did not believe that Jim’s regard could be completely genuine, perhaps borne out of pity, or because Spock’s mother was an instructor within this facility.

Yes, that would be the most logical of motives, given what Spock knew of human interactions.

At least, it would have been, if Jim was one to wish to gain the positive regard of his instructors.  In theory, the hypothesis had merit, yet in practice, there was little supporting evidence.

Perhaps… perhaps Jim really did hold him in high regard.  Perhaps he really did care for Spock, consider him a… friend.  Spock had never had a friend before.

He shook the thought out of his head before it had time to take root, unwilling to open himself up to the emotions surrounding social attachment to a peer.  If he allowed himself to care in turn for Jim, then what would become of him if his postulations proved false?  Spock acknowledged reluctantly that he was still unstable, still open to emotional injury; it had not yet been three months since his moment of weakness, but it was proving true that a change of environment coupled with the passing of time was beneficial to his sense of control and mental wellbeing.

In the meantime… Spock looked up from his meal in time to catch Jim watching him with an indecipherable expression colouring his open features.  Jim held his gaze for a moment, a small grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, before he returned his attention to the general conversation.

Spock allowed his features to soften momentarily, as he considered the significance of the look.  Perhaps it was too late to prevent himself from forming an emotional attachment to this human.

However… his Vulcan ways would never let him show it.

He took a deep breath, not unlike a human sigh in nature, returning to his meal.

_Kaiidth._

_What is, is._

 

***

 

The afternoon period was technically free, yet they were still required to attend a session with the newly arrived Starfleet scientists.

At this stage, they just wanted blood samples, and a description of their abilities.  But Leonard McCoy could tell this wouldn’t end well.  As had somehow become his motto in this place (alongside “Damnit Jim!”), he could ‘feel it in his bones’.

It’s not that they had a problem with giving blood samples.  It’s not even that they had a problem with the scientists testing the genetics, figuring out what proteins and base sequences correlated with their abilities, in order to come up with ways to integrate them into their technology.  No, the thing that they had an issue with was the way those scientists looked at them, staring at them like they were animals in a zoo, literal lab rats.  It probably didn’t help that they were all minors either, apart from Scotty of course.

“If those fuckers keep staring at me like I’m some inferior being, I swear I’ll whack ‘em over the head with my wing or something,” Jim muttered beside him, giving a passing white-coat a death glare to rival that of Spock’s.  They hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with the hobgoblin yet, seeing how he was refusing to let them touch him, citing interspecies conduct and suchlike.

Bones rolled his eyes at Jim, content to just sit back for the time being as they waited in line, studying the room around him.  He’d always been interested in medicine, with how bodies and pathogens and chemicals all worked and interacted, and he’d always had a passion for helping people, so it made sense that someday he’d become some kind of doctor.  He’d been curious about the biolabs, and the sickbay in this place, but both had been kept off-limits, especially since no one had actually gotten hurt yet.  Now he finally got a chance to look around.

It was a pretty wide open space, with beds and gurneys down one end (where they were all lined up), with little privacy curtains pulled back, and a cart with various medical tricorders and hyposprays and laser scalpels, and all the stuff you’d expect to find in a miniaturised Starfleet sickbay.  Down the other end of the room was all sorts of medicine-related machinery, with a couple of microscopes dotted around the benches, some beakers connected by long segments of pipe filled with blue and purple liquid, some Bunsen burners, and some other stuff that made it all look like a biochemistry laboratory.  Which it probably was.

And, of course, it was all themed white.  White plastiglass walls, white ceiling, white linoleum floor, white equipment, white tables, white beds, white  _staff_  for god’s sake, with their white coats and white shoes, and shining white teeth, and the majority of them being pale and blonde.  That one black guy stood out like a black sheep in a field of snow.  The only other colour in the room (other than the kids milling about) was in the few things that were either tinted or glowing blue.

“Yeah, you go assault the staff while I go blind from the sheer whiteness,” he muttered back to Jim as the line shuffled forward.  Apparently they’d come to some sort of agreement with Spock, seeing as there was a vial of green whatever it was that Vulcans had in their circulatory system just floating through the air, via the hobgoblin’s telekinetic voodoo.  He must’ve taken the collector himself, still refusing to let the scientists touch him.

“Ugh, I hate needles,” Jim winced as they moved forward again.  He was next, then Bones.

“Oh, quit yer yapping,” he growled at Jim, “These days, they’re designed to inflict minimal damage to the skin, and anyway, with your superpowers you’ll heal up in two second flat.”

He could practically see Jim’s mind jumping tracks, “Superpowers you say?  We kinda are like superheroes, aren’t we?”  He nodded to himself, obviously well distracted from the subject of needles, “You know, we could become superheroes if we wanted, going out and fighting the bad guys, and saving people’s lives.  Or we could go out and represent humanity!  We could go off and explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations, and boldly go where no man has gone before!”

Oh god, the boy was going all dramatic on him.

“Jim, I don’t think--”

“We need codenames, Bones!  Superhero pseudonyms, to hide our true identities!  I could be the Captain, like my online pseudonym, and you could be Bones, and Sulu could be D’Artagnan, and… and… lemme think about this for a second.”

“Jim, it’s your turn.”

“Hmm?  What?”

Bones nudged the boy in the direction of the nurse, Jim still wrapped up in his thoughts and (almost) completely oblivious to the imminent needling.  At least, he was until the needle actually came into his line of sight.  Then the damn kid started hyperventilating, and all the blood drained from his face,

“Damnit man!  You’ll make yourself faint!”  Bones grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly until the Jim turned to face him, “Now, look at me kid.  Don’t look at the needle, just look at me.  Deep breaths, kid, deep breaths, nice and slow, you hear me?  Now, calm.  The.  Fuck.  Down.”  He spoke slowly and with a straight face, and then the damn kid started laughing.  Well, it was more of a subdued snort, but still.

“What on earth are you chuckling about?”

Jim shook his head, regaining his breath, “Way to drop the F-Bomb, man.  Precision strike.”

That little comment earned the kid a facepalm, “My god man, you went from being terrified to highly amused in half a second flat.  You sure you’re not bipolar?  I can fix that, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not clinically insane.  My mother had me tested.”

“I’d imagine so.  Anyway, it’s over.”

“What’s over?”

“Your… look, never mind, just trot off down to your little hobgoblin friend, and I’ll be there in a minute,” Bones shooed him off, not sure if the boy was kidding around, or whether he actually hadn’t noticed the needle.

Then he took a proper look at the needle the nurse was holding out for  _him_ , and gulped slightly.  Well… it was okay to be a little nervous of something that looked that fricking huge.  He had to concentrate on not hyperventilating himself.  Damn kid must’ve somehow transferred his fear.  That was it.  Damn empath mind voodoo, that’s all.

Oh, who was he kidding.  That was one big-ass needle.

This was turning out to be one hell of a weekend.

 

Turned out that Spock had gone off on his merry way to whatever dark corner hobgoblins like himself were wont to scuttle into, and so Jim had immediately gone and chatted up some girl. 

“Bones!  This is Marlie, that girl I was telling you about before!”

Of course, there were only like, twenty kids there, so he knew who the hell she was.  For another thing, Jim had never mentioned this girl to him before anyway, so the kid was bullshitting through his teeth.

“Bones?  Is that your real name, or some kind of code for something?”  The girl raised here eyebrow at him, an amused grin spreading across her face.  She was pretty in a normal way (as opposed to what appeared to be an entirely different species that had their faces plastered all over the holovids.  Maybe those women were a different species, cos hell, all the kids here were).  She had dark brown hair that curled into ringlets at the ends, and eyes the colour of a shallow sea on a sunny day.  Damn, now  _he_  was getting dramatic. 

“My name’s McCoy, Leonard McCoy,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake, “And yeah… Jimbo’s told me  _so_  much about you,” he rolled his eyes at the boy in question, grinning himself as the girl let out a laugh.  Yeah, they both knew that Jim hadn’t paid any attention to her before now.  Plenty of people could tell - or, at least, they suspected - that Jim was crushing pretty hard on Spock.  Those two spent a lot of time together, and it was damned odd that the hobgoblin wasn’t here right now.  Come to think of it, Nyota had gone off somewhere as well…

“So Marlie, how’d a sweet girl like you get into a place like this?”  Jim was talking her up again, his charm set to maximum.

“Well… my abilities came out in the middle of a fire fight with some idiot radicals on Alpha Eridani who had built themselves projectile weapons,” she flicked her hair over her shoulder, her eyes taking on a distant look, even as she shot them a cocky grin, “I was thirteen at the time.  They shot at me, and I saw the bullets shooting right towards my head.  I just kinda put my arms out and pushed them away.  I could hardly control it at first, but now I can generate fully fledged force fields up to twenty metres in diameter.”

“Fully fledged force fields.  Awesome.  Try saying that five times fast,” Jim dared them, immediately trying to do it himself, “Fully fledged force fields.  Fully flegged florf flields.  Flully fleff florf flielfs.  Okay, I give up.”  Marlie cracked up at his attempt to say the tongue twister, and Bones just shook his head at them both, deciding that he’d go and find more intelligent conversation elsewhere.

 

“Spock?  Are you okay?”

“I am functioning within all normal parameters, Miss Uhura.”

He had his back turned to her, hidden away within the bookcases.  She’d never had thought to look here if she hadn’t overheard Kirk and Spock talking about their shared love of physical books.  She’d never nee the appeal herself though - it just smelled really musty in here, surrounded by these old pages and ink.

“Call me Nyota,” she insisted, crouching down next to him, clamping down on the impulse to reach out and touch him.  No, that’s probably what got him like this in the first place, with those idiot scientists pestering him.  Poor baby.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I apologise, but I do not understand what you are referring to.  Please use a less ambiguous term.”  Well, at least he had turned to face her.  His expression was even more closed off than usual, even his eyes letting nothing show.  She couldn’t tell whether he was still freaked out, or whether he just wanted her to go away.  She sincerely hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Nyota had been harbouring a small - okay, maybe not so small - crush on the Vulcan for weeks now, ever since she had first seen him working away on their first science project - his passion for the subject was clear to anyone who knew how to look, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he bent over the computer, completely absorbed in his work.  She had always wanted someone to look at her like that.  She hadn’t known anyone was  _capable_  of looking like that.  So emotionless and expressive all at once, hiding some deep sorrow.  He was utterly unique in everything he was and did and planned to do.

“I mean, are you still upset about the scientists trying to touch you?” she clarified, wincing mentally as her mind went directly into the gutter.  Yeah, don’t need that imagery, thankyou.

“Vulcans do not get ‘upset’.  I was merely unsettled by their attempts to violate my personal space.”

Yeah, there it goes again, mind straight into the gutter.

“Yeah, I can tell you’re a bit ‘unsettled’.  Do you wanna, you know, talk it out?  A lot of the time, it helps to talk through your problems with another person.  It helps you get a different perspective on things, you know?”

“I do know of this method, though I do not intend to utilise that option in the near future.  I planned to meditate, before you interrupted me.”

Okay, yeah, he was being rather standoffish.  That hurt, just a little, but she had to remember that Spock obviously wasn’t in the best of moods right now anyway,

“Okay.  Well, just remember, if you need someone to talk to… I’m here for you, okay?”  She took a chance, reaching out to place her hand over his, giving it a quick squeeze before moving away before he could shake her off or say something else that was dismissive.

She didn’t see the green flush colouring Spock’s cheeks, as he stared at his hand as if it had transformed into some unknown creature, before looking up after her with a contemplative expression.

Apparently Jim wasn’t the only person who held him in high regard.

 

***

As evening approached, there was a general announcement over the public address system, telling them all to make their way down to the gyms.

That whole floor had been closed off since about three o’clock, the only people allowed down being Scotty, Pike and Amanda.  Yeah, something was definitely up.

They gathered outside the doors, waiting for them to be unlocked.  There was the faint sound of music coming through the door, only the thumping of a heavy dance beat audible. 

Oh hell yeah.

Then the doors finally opened, seemingly of their own accord - oh  _hell_  yeah.

Scotty had gone to town on the place, rigging up a disco ball to the high ceiling (who  _knows_  how he got up there), with a smoke machine in one corner, and some speakers set up in another.  The lights were turned down, flashing strobe lights illuminating the space with spots and streaks that flitted through the air like glittered lasers. 

And who else, but Pike himself playing DJ.

And he was somehow  _not_  being an embarrassment.

Which meant he was totally failing at being a father figure - but definitely not in a bad way.

And Ms Grayson - Spock’s mum, who insisted that he call her Amanda - was setting up a drinks table, with Scotty beside her, tinkering with some bulky metal cylinder.

“My god man, Scotty managed to get us alcohol.”  Bones appeared behind Jim, looking simultaneously worried and excited, “Gee, like I’ve  _always_  wanted to try my powers on somebody’s hangover.”  His words were characteristically snarky, but the teenager was grinning like a madman. 

They really needed this.  After a month of Starfleet scientists staring at them like they were freaks, and random Betazoids trying to teach them how to  _expand their minds_  and all that shit, they really needed the chance to relax and just be  _kids_.

So yeah.  When the doors opened, and the music and strobe lights spilled out into the hall, their eyes all opened wide, they yelled out in excitement, and all rushed forward as one, straight onto the dance floor.

Jim and Bones quickly extricated themselves from the mob, stepping slightly off to the side, both grinning so hard it made their cheeks hurt.  Up at the DJ table, Pike finished messing with the playlist, wandering over to where Amanda and Scotty stood as the drums started playing, a clapping beat, then a guitar, quickly building up into one of those songs that just makes the world seem so fucking brilliant that you have to laugh out loud, and hug the nearest person.

 

_If you love somebody_

_Better tell them while they’re here ’cause_

_They just may run away from you_

“Hey Bonesy.”

“Yeah Jimbo?”

“Chapel’s been watching you for the past ten minutes.”

“Has she now?”

 

_You’ll never know quite when, well_

_Then again it just depends on_

_How long of time is left for you_

“Maybe you should go, you know, talk to her,” Jim nudged Bones with an elbow, his drink sloshing slightly, with the old _wink wink, nudge nudge_.

“Jim, I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“What then?  You chicken?”

 

_I’ve had the highest mountains_

_I’ve had the deepest rivers_

_You can have it all but life keeps moving_

“Look Jim, I can’t just go and ask her out.  You might be able to have every girl you flash that grin at, but I’m just some grumpy bastard.  She’s not interested.”

Jim grinned as a pale hand wrapped around Bones’ shoulder, spinning him around to face its owner.  There Chapel stood, all blonde hair and sparkles, pretty blue eyes blinking up at him in the flashing lights, “What’s this I hear about me not being interested?”

 

_I take it in but don’t look down_

 

“I… um… That is…” 

“Naw, he’s so cute when he’s flustered,” Chapel made a face at Jim, both of them laughing at Bones’ sudden muteness.  He cleared his throat, trying again,

“Well missy, would ya like a dance with me?”  He held his arm out, standing tall, but then quickly ducking his head again, wanting to act the confident gentleman, but having no idea what to do.

Chapel chuckled, shaking her head slightly as she grinned at him, wrapping her arm around his outstretched elbow, “I’d love to, Leonard.”

 

_‘Cause I’m on top of the world_

_I’m on top of the world_

_Waiting on this for a while now_

_Paying my dues to the dirt_

 

Jim grinned as he watched them spin about on the dancefloor, Bones attempting to teach Chapel some sort of swingdance - maybe.  He couldn’t quite tell.

 

Across the other side of the room, Spock watched the humans from a dark corner, having remained unnoticed thus far.  He could see Jim with a grin so wide that it almost appeared to bisect his face.  The environment was… joyful.  Regardless of his stance towards emotions and their expression, there was no doubt that this was a positive experience for the humans.  He only wished that he was able to join in on the festivities.

 

_I’ve been waiting to smile_

_Been holding it in for a while_

_Take you with me if I can_

_Been dreaming of this since a child_

 

Bones was having the time of his life, with this beautiful girl, after just that afternoon having his heart given back to him by Gaila.  She’d been gentle about it, sure, but rejection was never fun.

But here, now, right in front of him - she was dainty, with blonde hair and blue eyes, a sweet smile, and a sweet voice, with a clever mind and a sharp wit to boot - Chapel was everything he liked in a girl.  She was beautiful.

 

_I’m on top of the world._

 

Scotty was over by the drinks table, grinning his head off as he downed his third beer that night.  Course, it was only the weak stuff.  Technically, the legal drinking age for humans was 16 on Earth.  And they had some kids who were under 16 here.  But he’d managed to convince Pike to let the kids have their fun, and they’d compromised with the low-alcohol beer.

Ah well.  This dishwater was better than juice, that’s for sure.

And he’d almost finished building his still anyway.  Soon he’d have him some good moonshine.

 

_I’ve tried to cut these corners_

_Tried to take the easy way out_

_I kept on falling short of something_

 

“Hey, what’re you doing over here, all by yourself?”

A mop of frizzy red hair appeared next to Scotty’s shoulder, elbowing him in the side,

“Ach, it’s not like they’re missin’ me or anything.  I’m content over ‘ere.”

Gaila pouted at his assumption that no one would notice his absence.  Well, that didn’t leave her much choice, now did it?

“Put your drink down, you’re coming with me,” she ordered, hands on her hips.

“Where’re we going?”  Gaila dragged him towards the main group, where the majority of people were now gathered in a circle around McCoy and Chapel as they danced, clapping to the rhythm of the music,

“You are going to dance, and you are going to enjoy it.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that, now could he?

 

_I could’ve gave up then but_

_Then again I couldn’t have ’cause_

_I’ve travelled all this way for something_

 

Amanda stood off to one side of the group, watching the teenagers laughing and dancing.  Leonard wasn’t half bad, really.  It had obviously been a long time since Chapel had danced like this though, but no one seemed to notice.  She’d gotten acquainted with those two over the past month, teaching them and Spock how to control their healing powers, so similar to her own.

“Hello, Amanda.  Want a drink?”  Chris Pike appeared at her elbow, holding two cups, looking slightly lopsided.

“I probably shouldn’t drink any more, but what the hell.  Thanks,” she smiled at him, feeling her tipsiness herself.  It was good to have a night off, to just relax.  Sure, they had a trip to the city planned for tomorrow, but that wasn’t until the afternoon.  Hangovers could be dealt with later.

 

_I take it in but don’t look down_

 

“Hey, Amanda…”  Chris fidgeted about a bit, not quite able to meet her gaze, “Do you… You know, I haven’t done this for years, but do you want to go out somewhere tomorrow?  With me?”

She almost inhaled her drink at that comment, snorting a little bit of beer out of her nose, Chris patting her firmly on the back as she tried to clear her airways.

“I’ll, uh, that’s a no then, is it?”

Gee, Chris was a  _lot_  less eloquent when he was drunk.

“No, no, it was just unexpected, that’s all,” she cleared her throat as her voice came out a little rough, “Sure, I’d love to.”  A big smile dimpled her cheeks, as the alcohol emboldened her further.  Setting her drink aside for the moment, she stepped up close against Chris’s chest,

“You know, I haven’t done this in a few years either… And all the kids are distracted… They wouldn’t notice us gone for a while, would they?” she murmured into his ear, her breath causing him to shiver.

“I… guess not,” a lopsided grin widened across his face, as the room tilted ever so slightly.  He hadn’t been drunk in years, either.  It probably wasn’t an entirely good idea to wander off with this gorgeous woman, but his brain wasn’t exactly in control of the decision making right now.

 

_‘Cause I’m on top of the world_

_I’m on top of the world_

_Waiting on this for a while now_

_Paying my dues to the dirt_

 

Jim was probably the only one to spot Pike and Amanda failing at sneaking off, tripping over every so often and leaning against each other, holding their fingers to their mouths and shushing each other as they disappeared.  Well, that was unexpected.  Jim could’ve sworn Pike was into guys, but hey, maybe he was bi. 

He glanced over at the corner where Spock had been attempting invisibility before… but he wasn’t there.  Wait, did he actually turn invisible?  Jim wandered over, only a slight wobble in his step (it was practically impossible for him to get properly drunk with his regenerative powers and such), waving a hand over the space where the Vulcan had been.  Nope, not invisible.  Was he anywhere else in the room?  There was no one by the drinks table now, a handful of people that weren’t Spock leaned up against various walls, and most of the other people were crowded in a circle, where Bones and Chapel were having a dance-off with Scotty and Gaila.  Nope, no Spock there either.  Where could he have gotten off to?

 

_I’ve been waiting to smile_

_Been holding it in for a while_

_Take you with me if I can_

_Been dreaming of this since a child_

 

They wouldn’t miss him.  No one would.

His mother might have noticed his absence, if it weren’t for the fact that she was… otherwise engaged.

_It is detestable.  Does she have no loyalty to sa-mekh?_

Spock was ensconced within the far corner of the library again.  It was no longer the quiet, undiscovered sanctuary it had once been, but there were only two who would be able to find him on purpose here. 

He wasn’t entirely sure which he would prefer.

 

_I’m on top of the world._

 

_Of course I’d find him here_ , Jim smiled to himself as he stuck his head around the bookshelf.  Of course this is where he’s go.

“Hey, Spock.  Party boring you?”

Spock’s head jerked up, surprise flashing across his face before he marshalled his features into their usual blank mask,

“How did you find me here?”

Jim raised an eyebrow, fighting off a smirk, “This is where you always go, when you’re looking for some alone time.”

Spock shook his head slightly, glancing away, “Let me rephrase;  _Why_  did you come looking for me?”

Jim cocked his head to the side, a puzzled frown appearing on his face, “Cos you’re my friend, silly.”

Spock’s eyes met his, mouth dropping slightly open, a line appearing between his eyebrows.  He looked… shocked, to tell the truth.

“What, don’t believe me?”  Jim couldn’t hold back the smirk any longer, lips pulling back as he watched Spock’s reaction with amusement.  But when the boy looked away, still with that shocked, confused expression, his mirth faded.  Moving over to sit near the Vulcan, Jim placed a hand on his knee, “Why?”

“I…” Spock swallowed, eyes darting to and away from Jim’s hand on his knee, but he made no move to cease the contact, “No one has ever considered me their… friend before.”

Now it was Jim’s turn to look shocked.

 

_Oooooooooooooh ooaah oh ooaah oh_

 

“Why is that?”  Jim finally stuttered out, “What, so you’ve  _never_  had any friends?”

Spock made an odd sideways movement with his head, looking away from him, “I have never had any peers with whom I have had anything more than a cordial acquaintanceship with.”

Well.  That had to be a bummer.  How could someone as clearly awesome as Spock never have any friends? 

“Well, you have one now,” Jim smiled gently at the boy when those chocolate eyes darted back to him, the insecurity clear in his gaze.  One corner of the Vulcan’s mouth tilted ever so slightly upwards, before the Vulcan ducked his head again, emitting something that felt like embarrassment.  Poor guy, so uncomfortable with emotional displays.

“Hey, seeing as we’re blowing off the party anyway, wanna see something?”  Jim stood brushing non-existent dust off his jeans.

“What variety of ‘something’?” Spock stood in one fluid movement, his Vulcan grace evident in his ease of movement, eyes twinkling with humour as clear as the quotation marks around ‘something’.

“Just trust me - you’ll find it ‘more than adequate’,” Jim smirked in return.

 

_Oooooooooooooh ooaah oh_

 

_‘Cause I’m on top of the world_

_I’m on top of the world_

_Waiting on this for a while now_

_Paying my dues to the dirt_

 

Chris’ skin was cool compared to-- no, she wouldn’t think of him.  Not tonight.  It had been two years.  Two years of loneliness and bitterness, trying to raise a self-destructive son who didn’t fit in anywhere.  Just this once, just this once, she would enjoy herself without thinking, without worrying, about him.

Tears mixed with sweat and saliva as she threw herself into Chris’ embrace.

 

Sulu had bugged Chekov into taking over the sound system, and they were now running a ridiculous karaoke competition - first up, them, of course, singing the old Earth song ‘Dynamite’ at the top of their lungs, completely out of tune, but no one could have cared less.  They were all too drunk, and too happy to care about their bad singing.

 

_I’ve been waiting to smile_

_Been holding it in for a while_

_Take you with me if I can_

_Been dreaming of this since a child_

 

After another couple of drinks, Bones, Chapel, Gaila and Scotty had resumed their dance-off, to the terrible singing of those on stage.  Around and around they spun, getting faster and more uncoordinated as they tried to out-do each other, jumping, clapping, spinning, kicking, throwing in every move they knew, and trying out others they’d made up on the spot.

Bones spun into Chapel, her arms circling around him as they leaned against each other.  Bones leaned forward, lips close to her ear,

“ _I might throw up on you._ ”

 

Uhura sat next to the beer keg with Marlie, each of them pissed off their asses, laughing at their friends’ attempts at song and dance.  It was chaos, sure, and it was brilliant.

Brilliant, yet bittersweet.

Spock had disappeared, and Jim had followed suit soon after, leaving them to their own devices.

“To the men who leave us behind,”

“And the girls who stick together.”

They raised their cups, drink slopping to the ground as they toasted each other.

 

_And I know it’s hard when you’re falling down_

_And it’s a long way up when you hit the ground_

_Get up now, get up, get up now._

 

Jim had taken them up to the top floor, each flying by their own methods, up to a hatch in the roof.  Spock had identified it early on as part of the ventilation system.

Jim had seen it as an opportunity to explore.

A short crawl later found them outside, on the side of the mountain which housed their little Academy, the cold desert wind ruffling their hair and clothes.

It felt like it had been so long since he’d felt the wind.

“See?  Isn’t this brilliant?”  Jim slung an arm around Spock’s shoulders, gesturing to the sky, “All that open space, just for us.”  His grin became more subdued, more wistful, “I come out here every couple of days, just to stretch my wings.  I get all antsy, cooped up in there.”

Spock nodded in understanding.  It was natural for someone who was as much bird as humanoid, to long for the open skies.

His head tilted back, searching the stars, easily picking out that one which would always be special to him, regardless of the pain he had experienced there.

Following his gaze, Jim twisted his mouth slightly, glancing between that star and his friend, “Want to get a little closer?”

Spock turned to him, not quite getting his meaning.  What--

Without any further warning, Jim grabbed his hand, sprinting towards the cliff’s edge as he stretched out his wings, pushing off with an almighty leap.

 

_And I know it’s hard when you’re falling down_

_And it’s a long way up when you hit the ground_

_Get up now, get up, get up now._

 

The sky was cool and clear, the starlight giving the landscape a strange beauty completely different to the daytime.  The reds and yellows were muted, green scrub and white soil tinted blue in the moonlight, giving the mountainside an eerie, otherworldly feel, as the cold eucalyptus-and-dirt scented air rushed past them.

They flew for hours, Jim performing some aerial acrobatics, while Spock flew alongside him, at peace for the first time in years.

 

_‘Cause I’m on top of the world_

_I’m on top of the world_

_Waiting on this for a while now_

_Paying my dues to the dirt_

 

“See?  Told you you’d find it more than adequate,” Jim smiled sleepily, settling his back against the rock wall.  They’d come down, finally, after hours of swimming through the stars.

Jim’s constant movement had kept him warm, but the only muscle Spock exerted was his brain.

“Are you shivering?”

“I am… cold.”

Jim rolled his eyes, “Come over here then.”  He stretched out a wing, making space beside him.

Reluctantly, Spock shuffled over beside him, attempting to make as little physical contact as possible.  Yeah, Jim wasn’t having any of that.

“You’ll never get warm like that,” he chuckled, pulling in his wing around the Vulcan teenager.  Spock stiffened at the sudden contact, and Jim began to get worried that his wing was about to get torn off by a cranky Vulcan, but then he relaxed.

“You are correct.  This is much… warmer.”

His eyes started to drift closed, and by degrees, Spock relaxed against him.  Quite soon, the boy was fast asleep, head resting on his shoulder with Jim’s wing was draped around him.

 

_I’ve been waiting to smile_

_Been holding it in for a while_

_Take you with me if I can_

_Been dreaming of this since a child_

 

Spock looked so… young while he was asleep.  That carefully controlled mask dropped away, the boy frowning slightly in his sleep, chewing slightly on his bottom lip in a way that was completely and utterly adorable.

Jim never wanted this moment to end.  It was just so… perfect.

Soon, he started to drop off too.  It was surely well past midnight by now.  As his eyes drifted closed, he had only one thought:

_I’m on top of the world._


	9. One Hell of a Weekend: Part Three - The Dawn of a New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST ALERT. 
> 
> I have one good angsty character, and I am going to exploit him. Ruthlessly.
> 
> Now introducing Aurora and Lily Rose, AuroraMoon’s and Bree Thompson’s OC’s respectively :D And Carolyn, who just kind of came out of the blue in a spot of burst-writing, and demanded that she get a major role. (No, not Carol Marcus. Carolyn Hemmingway. She just came with that name. Deal with it.)
> 
> Many thanks to my new Beta, TimePatches. You rock, Timey!

**One Hell of a Weekend: Part Three - The Dawn of a New Day**

 

First light. 

That first beam of sunlight that arcs over the celestial dome, lighting the sky on fire. 

That golden furnace that hovers just on the horizon, stretching its rays over the waking world. 

The sky blue at its zenith, fading off into a dusky red over the desert plains, highlighting the green and blue mountain scrub that tickles the rocky cliffs.

Goosebumps still prickling across their icy skin, the night chill lingering as the sun crawls slowly out of bed, soon to evaporate any concept of ‘cold’.  The slowly brightening air danced with dust motes, a soft breeze wafting the scents of eucalyptus and iron-red dust around the two boys, still wrapped in their sleepy embrace. 

Spock was the first to regain consciousness, eyes blinking open as the first rays struck their heavy lids.  Momentarily disoriented, he looked around, following the white curve of downy feathers over the underside of one giant wing, his mind slowly drifting away from the fuzzy warmth of sleep as his gaze flowed up to one golden shoulder, soft sun-tanned skin curving up a smooth neck, the square jawline lightly dusted with stubble leading up to a perfectly rounded ear.

 _No_.

He sat up quickly, scrambling back, the sudden movement shaking Jim into awareness.

“Wha?  Whassgoinon?”  The golden-haired head jerked upright, hands shifting behind his torso as Jim levered himself up, squinting in the dawn light as he pulled himself into the waking world.

“Spock?  You okay?”

 _Surely not.  Most certainly not.  This is not good, definitely not good_.

“Spock?”  Jim waved his hand in front of Spock’s face, clicking his fingers. 

 _I can’t have.  I couldn’t have_.  But his memories did not lie.  What may have seemed like a harmless course of action last night certainly did not seem nearly as harmless now.

“Spock, buddy, you’re scaring me.”

He finally managed to spit out some words,

“I apologise for my behaviour last night.  It was unacceptable.”  He had to get away, had to clear his head.  This reaction was entirely improper.  He stood, running off the cliff’s edge and lifting himself up, despite Jim’s attempts to call him back.  He could get back inside through the hangar, no need to search for the air vent that they had used last night.  If he wanted to go back at all.

Last night…

 _Last night was a mistake.  Last night shouldn’t have happened.  I displayed far too much emotion, I crossed boundaries I should not have crossed._   To fall asleep, encircled within Jim’s wings?  He... _merde_ , he was a disgrace to his _sa-mekh’s_ memory, a disgrace to the Vulcan race.

He threw himself into a hollow in the cliff side, a shallow cave known only to the cockatoos and the falcons.  He couldn’t go to the library.  They knew where to find him there.  And right now, all he desired was to be left alone.

 

Blinding pain, an ice-pick hammering against her skull, the driest corners of Vulcan’s Forge storming their dust across her tongue.  _Nique ta mere_ , what had she gotten up to last night? 

Amanda cracked her eyes open, bracing for the stab-your-eyes-out-with-rusty-spoons pain that would come with direct light.  But there was no light.  Or, more correctly, very little.  She opened her eyes the rest of the way, cautiously lifting her filled-with-cotton-wool head.  Where on earth was she?  This wasn’t her room.

A muffled snore came from under the blankets beside her, a man-sized lump in the sheets. 

Wait.

_What?_

She ran her hands over her body under the blankets - yup, nothing on.  Nothing at all.

She was in a man’s room, wearing nothing at all.

 _Merde_.

_Okay, okay, think this through logically.  Who’s the man?_

Well, it had to be Chris, didn’t it?  She hadn’t gone off with one of the kids, thank goodness.  This was one of the staff rooms.  In the adult dorms.  _Putain_ , they were going to see her, weren’t they?

She looked around for a clock - 0600, okay, not too bad then.  The staff didn’t get up until 0700.

The man rolled over with a grunt, dragging the blankets down from his face.  Good grief, the man looked a mess.

…An admittedly _sexy_ mess.

Okay, maybe drunk Amanda had a point.

But right now, hung-over Amanda _really_ needed to pee.

 

He came to consciousness slowly, drifting upwards from his heavy sleep.  _Ugh, okay, that’s a hangover_.  Bones lifted a hand to his head, rubbing it across his face.  Good god man, his mouth was as dry as the Mojave, and he had what felt like two dozen head of cattle stampeding around his inner cranium.  He was lying on some hard, flat surface, with his arms dangling over the sides.  What in the-- why was he on a table? 

He cracked his eyes open cautiously, and whaddya know, shiny bright stabby lights.  Oh good lord, that was painful.  He rolled over, shading a hand over his eyes as he tried again, trying to figure out where on earth he’d decided to crawl up and die.

What… the walls?  They were… oh god, they were an almost fluorescent shade of lurid green.  The walls looked practically _radioactive_.  What even was this?

He looked around the rest of the room, figuring out that he was in the cafeteria (despite the radioactive walls), counting six others slumped in varyingly painful-looking positions around the room.  Gaila was draped across what looked like Scotty and several dozen plastic cups, some pieces of metal piled next to them, all under a table in the far corner.  Chapel was slumped against Marlie and Uhura against a wall, and a gothic-looking girl with lurid green hair the same shade as the walls - what was her name, um, Aurora - was sprawled spread-eagle across another table.  What had _happened_ last night?  Fuck, the walls were _green_.  Why were the walls _green_?

Good grief, man.  This was shaping up to be one hell of a weekend.

 

Sulu awoke to bright, flashing lights, a kaleidoscope of colours twirling around the high ceiling.  He frowned at the colours, the spinning lights making him feel a bit nauseous - _oh, that must be it_.  Someone left the strobe lights on.  But not the sound system.  That was… he rolled his head to the side, _okay then_.  The sound system was dead.  As in, a smoking and slightly blackened kind of dead.

There was a muffled snore from somewhere below his head, and he became aware of a warm, heavy weight resting on his chest.  A weight with curly blonde hair.  Which was also shirtless.

He levered himself up on his elbows, careful not to disturb the boy.  Chekov, after so recently revealing his tough-guy persona, in his sleep had reverted back to that adorable teenager he’d come to know over the past month.  _Huh_.  Maybe it hadn’t all been a lie, after all.  Maybe that tough-guy attitude was just another act that he’d learned to project, another protective layer around his core.

Sulu smiled fondly at the boy, stroking a hand through those soft curls.  In moments like these, he realised truly how much Chekov had come to mean to him. 

The boy roused at his touch, letting out a sleepy grunt as he lifted up his head, blinking blearily at the strobe lights flashing around them.

“’Karu?  Vhat…”  He sat up quickly as he realised where they were, too quickly - the boy was soon clutching his aching head, as his own hangover made itself known.

“Ugh, ‘Karu, vhy are ve on ze floor of ze gym?”

Hikaru Sulu grinned at Chekov, adorable in his rumpled state, “I think we decided it was too much hassle to go back upstairs.”  He pulled the boy towards him, an arm around his warm shoulders, “Come on, we should probably find the others.”

“Da.  Let us be checking ze cafeteria first - I really am needing some vater.”

 

By 0700 - ridiculously early by hangover standards - everyone except Spock had turned up in the cafeteria.  The early risers - namely, Jim, Bones, Sulu and Amanda - had woken everyone else up, and they had set about preparing breakfast and passing around the coffee.

“Leonard, this would be the perfect opportunity for you and Christine and Spock to see if your abilities extend to curing hangovers,” Amanda plopped down into the chair next to Bones.  Out of all of them, only Spock had the ability to heal himself as well as others (and even then, only minor afflictions) - the rest of the healers were only able to help those around them. 

“Yeah, pr’aps,” Bones slurred, taking another long draught from his coffee, still feeling decidedly hung-over himself.  Amanda took pity on the boy, turning him around to face her,

“Just close your eyes, and let me try something,” she told him, holding her hands to Leonard’s temples.  Her healing abilities might be weak compared to the kids’ powers, but Amanda still had a little mojo up her sleeve.  She identified the problem quickly enough - dehydration was a major factor in the symptoms of a hangover.  It was simply a matter of filtering any remaining toxins into his kidneys, and redistributing the water around his body.

“There we are.  Feeling any better?”  She smiled as the boy nodded in relief, “It may be a good idea to lay off the diuretics for a little while though,” she nodded to his coffee, pushing a nearby glass of water towards him.

“I could feel you working in here,” Leonard motioned to his body, “You moved the toxins and the water - and I could feel how you were doing it, in there,” he motioned towards her head, “I think I’m growing more sensitive - I never used to be able to feel the actual functions of people’s bodies, just whatever was wrong at the time.”

“Well, your powers are developing, of course.  You will be able to do so much once you’ve mastered your abilities,” she smiled at him, soon moving away to start helping the others.

Bones looked around the room, spying Christine sitting at a table with Uhura.  Jim was at another table by himself, playing with a paper cup.  Spock…

He turned around, searching the faces - Spock wasn’t there.  Huh.  He was probably holed up somewhere where the drunkards couldn’t reach him, with their illogical hangovers.

 

He couldn’t go back. 

He couldn’t face the others, knowing what he had done.

The actions of last night could not be taken back, could not be erased.  Even if Jim did not understand the weight of such an action, such an unforgivable display of emotionalism, _he_ would know.  And it would be impossible for him to lie to himself over the impact of such a violation.

Spock nudged the mental bond gently with his thoughts, the thin cord like a fragile spider’s web joining him irrevocably to the angel child.  If he concentrated, he would be able to sense the vibrations of Jim’s thoughts, the flavour of his emotions. 

In falling asleep in his embrace, Spock had unintentionally joined their minds.  He always knew it was a danger, in his increased telepathic ability.  Any prolonged contact with another would result in the formation of a bond.  It normally wouldn’t have been a problem - all Vulcans had some level of touch-telepathy, and so by rule there was little to no contact between those who were not family or bondmates.  But this bond was accidental, and non-consensual.  Jim did not know, nor had he given permission.  It was a violation of the worst kind.

He huddled up smaller within the shallow cave he had found, barely a metre deep in the solid cliff face.  The wind rushed by like a raging river, a formidable force that streamed through the canyon hiding the hangar entrance.  It had taken all the concentration left to him to combat the violent updrafts and sideways shunt of what felt like a solid wall of air.  Nothing like last night’s flight, the starlight tingling across their backs, his shining blue eyes lit up bright in the moonlight--

_No, I cannot.  I must not._

How would he be able to put forth an unemotional façade with such turmoil growing within?

Spock concentrated on the flow of air in and out of his lungs, the thrum of his heart in his side, trying to pull himself into a meditative state.

_Inhale_

Box up all those emotions, enclose them within a sphere of calm

_Exhale_

Release them to the air, push them away where they cannot cause harm

_Inhale_

The logical course of action became clear to him, as he calmed his raging thoughts.  He could not dissolve the bond without the aid of a mind healer from Vulcan.  The bond could not be allowed to continue.  The only other way to terminate the bond was to irrevocably separate the bonded.

_Exhale_

But could he do it?

Spock looked over the edge, the cliff face extending approximately two hundred metres below him.

_Inhale_

It was a long way down.

He closed his eyes.

_Exhale_

 

“James, have you seen Spock?”  Amanda plopped into a chair next to the boy, passing him a glass of water.

His gaze skittered sideways, a downwards slant pulling at his mouth. 

“Jim?  What’s wrong?”  This was unlike him.  He was avoiding her gaze, avoiding her questions.  What had happened?

“Jim, it’s alright.  Tell me what happened,” she touched his shoulder lightly, a comforting gesture she had never been able to extend on Vulcan.  Humans were both easier and harder to deal with - Vulcans never lied, but they were masters of misdirection.  It was easier to figure out what was wrong when a human got emotional, but harder to understand the reasoning behind their distress.  Two very different races, two very different cultures.  Two very different methods of dealing with their feelings.

“Well, we went out for a bit of a flight last night,” he tilted his head to the side, not even commenting on his unintentional rhyme, “It was nice out there, so we just decided to sleep outside.  Amazing how we didn’t get bitten by any of the thousand and one deadly things out there,” he smirked.  He’d only lived two years in Australia, but he was well acquainted by the deadliness of practically every single animal you’d care to glance at, out in the bush and desert that made up the majority of the ‘Land Down Under’.

“Spock was cold, so I offered to keep him warm with my wing.  That’s always how I’ve stayed warm when sleeping outside before,” he continued with a shrug, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.  He was cold, so I offered to help - completely forgetting how he gets about people touching him.” 

Jim threw his hands in the air, coming to rest his head on one hand propped up on a knee, “Of course, he has a freak out when he wakes up.  He pissed off over the cliff, and telekinesis-ed away like some magical elf.”

Amanda had grown still at his words.  They had stayed in physical contact for at least six hours.  She knew exactly what that would mean for the boys, exactly why Spock must be having a ‘freak out’. 

And she knew exactly how he would attempt to resolve the ‘problem’.

“We have to find him - now.”

 

In the end, it turned out that they needn’t have worried too much - in the end.  Spock wouldn’t talk about it, but Amanda knew, Pike knew, and somehow, so did Jim.  They all knew how close he’d come to that simple shift of his centre of mass, barely twenty centimetres to the right.  That would have been all it took.

But perhaps Spock had convinced himself of the illogical nature of using something as final and absolute as death as a method of escaping one’s problems.  Perhaps the will to survive had been too great this time around.  There was a big difference between a sharp blade and a long walk off a short cliff, after all.

Perhaps he _had_ jumped.

Perhaps he had come that close to ending it all, the air screaming past his ears, tearing through his hair, pulling at his cheeks, making his eyes water, plummeting down down down toward the hard, jagged rocks far below, before he pulled up at the last second, heart pounding with terror and adrenaline and shock at how close he had really come, how all that had separated him from life and the sharp, unforgiving rocks was a few feet of air and his telekinetic powers.

Perhaps he had meant to follow through with it.

But perhaps, at that last moment, that last second of freefall, he had felt something shiver across that barely-formed mental bond.  An echo of concern for his safety, tinged with the golden light and the smell of dust after rain that always accompanied the angel child.  A shadow of affection that pinched at his chest, right where his heart would have been if he were human.

Perhaps.

But Spock refused to speak a word.

He had levitated himself back through the hangar entrance just as they were gearing up to head out and find him, hair wind-tousled beyond all recognition from its usually pristine neatness, skin far paler than usual, eyes wide and staring, a jerky shiver in his movements that was a far cry from his usual carefully moderated grace.

Amanda had immediately rushed over to him, burying her face in his shoulder, him stiff as a statue as he tolerated her illogical grief over what could have been, not what was, checking him over for any scrapes or bruises.  He had only recently reached the point where he was taller than her.  Only recently. 

When Jim saw the Vulcan boy, he couldn’t help but slump against Pike, a tension and worry he didn’t know he’d been carrying leaving him in one big rush.  Pike understood.  He held on to Jim as Spock pulled away from his mother, murmuring something to placate her for now. 

But when Jim stepped forward, tried to get a response out of him, Spock just kept walking.  Just kept walking, up to the elevator shaft, and lifting himself up, out of sight.

Spock couldn’t bring himself to look into those blue eyes just yet.

Not just yet.

 

***

 

It was the dawn of a new day, literally as well as metaphorically.  The Brotherhood had acquired this large building on the outskirts of London a few months back, using it for training and meetings, and, well.  This was going to be one hell of a meeting.

The dark-haired man cocked his head to the side as he surveyed the sizeable crowd in the hall beneath him, lips twisting into a smirk as he watched them get settled from the shadows of his high balcony.  Things were starting to come together now; his good humour was returning, the nightmares plaguing him less.  There was a touch of somewhat sinister playfulness in his interactions now, like a cat toying with its prey.

“That’s everyone, sir,” his new second-in-command said as she appeared behind him.  She was the closest he could find to an equal in this place.  The most powerful next to him.  She would never replace those he had lost, but she was a worthy addition to their memory.

He bounced on the balls of his feet, running his tongue over his teeth, the pent-up energy of just under three centuries of sleep begging to be released.  He could hardly stand the pressure within him anymore.  It must be released.

“Excellent,” he hissed, composing himself.  He must appear calmly intimidating before his followers, lest they begin to doubt him.

“Is the human ready?”  He glanced over at the woman beside him, who nodded.  The twist of his lips became more feral in its nature as he anticipated the show to come.  He must demonstrate to the New Humans what the scum were like, and what measures must be taken to eliminate them.

“Bring them up, then.”

He stepped forward into the light, raising his arms as several hundred New Humans below cheered at his appearance.  The floor below was packed with men, women and children, all DNA-tested before they were let in - all of them with the advanced genes, superior skills, from the lowest psi-sensitive to the powerful Level 4 or Alpha Class mutants.  They all cheered him forth as their leader in a time of strife for New Humankind.

He swiped an arm through the air in front of him, ordering silence without a word passing through his thin lips.  The noise immediately died down, every individual, every friend, every group and family waiting on baited breath for his speech.

Behind him, his soldiers brought forward their… _guests_ , a father and daughter pair, halting just short of the shadow’s edge.  The man was kicking and struggling against them, attempting to yell out through his gag.  The child stood proud, despite the tears that ran silently down her cheeks, a girl barely entering puberty.  Barely coming into her birthright. 

He turned back to the crowd, their expectant eyes following his every move.  Some anticipated a bloody demonstration.  Some expected a call for revolution.  Some had only come because their friends had dragged them here.  Some were expecting him to fail miserably in his ambitions, to fall by the wayside against the inexorable march of humanity.

_Well - shall we begin?_

“Friends!  My fellow _Homo superior_!  Lend me your ears for yet a short while, and listen to my words!”  He swallowed, leaning his hands against the railing that bordered the balcony.

“We are all one and the same, my people.  Those mongrels out there, those _ordinary_ humans, they would have you believe otherwise, but _you are all better than them_.  We are all unique and beautiful in our own rights, all with our own special talents and abilities.  They have nothing to set them apart in their droves of mindless arrogance!  They are all weak, mindless sheep!”  He paused for effect, narrowed eyes roaming over the people clustered below,

“A herd in need of culling. 

“They are a _disease_ upon this planet’s surface, upon the land, ocean and sky, a blight amongst the very stars themselves.  Their rejection of us is characteristic of their close-mindedness.  We, who are so much _more_ than them - they fear us.  They fear what we might do.

“And rightly so.

“Were we not of this world, we would be accepted among their ranks, among their people.  Were we alien, they would be in awe of our powers, our abilities.

“But we are of this world, and we are not alien.  We are _New_ Humans, the next stage in human evolution, yet they seek to put us down, to reject each and every one of us.  They call us _mutants_ , they clamour for the _Mutant Registration Act_ to be reinstated, they blame us for every tragedy, every horror, every act of terror upon their cities.

“Well, they are our cities too.  More than that, they are our _inheritance_.  They are rightfully ours, and ours for the taking.  We are the next stage in evolution, we are the next Children of Earth, we are the ones who must rule this planet.

“And all who stand against us must fall.”

Silence reigned as he beckoned to the soldiers behind him, bringing forward the man and child, the father and daughter.  The child kept her head raised high, even though the tears still dripped from her chin, the man still attempting to bargain, to threaten, to beg his release through the gag that silenced him.

“Take this man, for example.  His name is Tyler Hemmingway.  He is a normal human being, with a respectable job.  He pays his taxes, he votes, he watches the football with his ‘mates’.  His ex-wife died last year, taken in the Beijing Riots, leaving him the only family of their daughter, Carolyn,” he drew the child towards him, placing his hands on her shoulders.  She turned those wet eyes towards him, questioning what he was about to do - she was a victim in all this, and she deserved retribution against those who had wronged her.  For that, he offered her a small, comforting smile.

“Carolyn was living with her mother on the day she died.  She hadn’t seen her father in three years, a long time for a child of twelve.  She was hoping for a loving father figure, an adult who would hold her hand in their time of grief.

“But what her father did not expect was to receive a child with the gift of light and language.  A New Human, with the ability to manipulate the electromagnetic spectrum with the power of her thoughts, and to communicate with any living creature.

“Dear Mr Hemmingway could not live with the fact that his daughter was a _freak_ ,” his grip tightened around the girl’s shoulders as a snarl twisted his mouth, “He tried to beat it out of her, coloured her black and blue in an attempt to make her stop.  But Carolyn stood proud against her father, and she found a way to contact us.  We took her into our care, and her father into our custody.  This child, pure in power and spirit, chose _us_ over _him_.  We are family now; the Brotherhood is hers, and she is ours.”

He nodded to the guards again, his second-in-command pulling the child to the side as her father was pushed forward, “This man has committed a crime against New Humankind.  He has tortured one of us in an attempt to prevent her from practicing her gift, a gross betrayal of her right to liberty.  As such, he must be punished,” he turned to the crowd, “What say you, my comrades?”

_“Punish him!”_

_“Kill him!”_

_“Make him pay!”_

The crowd was whipped into a frenzy, his words igniting their need for justice, bringing forward their pain, their rejection, their fear.  They had stood by long enough, they had accepted the maltreatment at the hands of humans long enough - it was time for change.

“The jury has ruled!  Tyler Hemmingway, you are hereby sentenced as guilty for crimes against New Humankind - your punishment…” that grin turned feral again, “Death.”

 _“Kill him!  Punish him!  Death to the human!”_   The crowd chanted him on.

The gag was pulled from the man’s mouth, horror colouring his face as his eyes searched for an escape, a way out, for any way to survive.  There was no doubt in this man’s mind that they would kill him.

“Any last words, Mr Hemmingway?”  Their leader’s aquamarine eyes flashed dangerously, his teeth bared in anticipation of his death.

“Carrie - Carolyn - please, baby, don’t let them do this to me.  You can’t really hate me that much, can you?  I’m your father, baby, don’t let them do this.  You need me.  Baby?”

The girl’s eyes had hardened at his words, even as fresh tears made their way down her face, her proud stance never faltering: “You are not my father.”

With that, the New Human leader lifted the man up, hands clenched around his head as he brought him into full view of the crowd, his teeth bared in equal parts pleasure and fury as he started to squeeze.

_“Kill him!  Punish him!  Death to the human!”_

Tighter, tighter he squeezed, biceps clenching under his jacket with the force of it, the crowd egging him on, chanting, cheering in their bloodlust, the man’s skull cracking, the girl’s silent tears watching him until--

It was done.

The man’s blood and pureed grey matter covered his hands and the front of his jacket as he turned to the crowd, holding his bloodied arms aloft.  The girl had turned away at the last moment, crying into his Second’s chest.  The people below cheered in triumph as the first of many met his fate at the hands of their leader, the one who would put an end to their suffering at the hands of humankind.

It was the dawn of a new day.

And the world was waking up.

 

***

Alice Springs was the proper kick in the ass they needed.  After being stuck in that goddamn cave for a month, it was good to finally get back to civilisation and reality.

The flight over had been a little… concerning, though.  Turbulence had buffeted them about, making Bones feel more than a little ill (why did anyone ever think that flying was a good way to get around?  Though he supposed it was better than those bloody transporters).  The temperature inside the shuttle felt a few degrees lower than the thermostat said it should - Spock was in the corner, sulking or something, trying (and succeeding) to ignore everyone.  His mother and Jim sat across the shuttle from the hobgoblin, exchanging concerned glances.  Bones’ guess was that Spock had suffered some kind of breakdown over being forced to go and interact with humans all day.  Or something like that, at least.  Unless he was given the chance to actually _do_ something about it, he wasn’t going to let himself get worked up about the woes of a guy he didn’t overly like, anyway.

Oh, the woes of a teenager.

They were given pretty much free run of the city for the day - Pike just told them to stay in pairs at a minimum, and keep their comm units on.  “Meet back at the Stringybark Bar & Bistro by 1800,” he yelled out as they ran off, turning to take Amanda by the arm as they wandered off on whatever little date they had arranged for themselves. 

So, basically six hours to run around a foreign city.

Fun.

“Hey Bones, wanna buddy up?”

Of course, Jimbo the flyboy wanted him to follow him around all day.

Yeah, why not?

“Sure, kiddo.  S’not like I have anywhere else to be,” he threw a glance over at Chapel, but she was absorbed in conversation with Marlie and Aurora.  Though it sounded more like a lot of squealing than any real language.

“Hey guys.”  Gaila bounced up to them, red hair fluffing goddamn everywhere.  She was a goddamn living pompom. 

“Awesome!”  Jim rubbed his hands together, “Let’s go look at stuff!”

Little-known fact about a certain James T. Kirk: he loves window-shopping.  Goddamn loves it.

 “Oooh, look!  A music store!”

Oh look, there he goes.

It was cooler inside.  Nice and air-conditioned; so much better than outside.  It was blazing out there - in late March, it was the Australian equivalent of pfft-what-is-this-Fall-you-speak-of-it-is-still-summer-here.  Not that they called it Fall.  It was Autumn here.

The music shop extended back a fair way, even continuing downward to a lower level.  The small shop front was deceiving - this place was actually quite large, and jam-packed full of instruments.  Strings, woodwinds, brass, percussion, electric and acoustic.  Mostly Terran, but with the occasional alien instrument, all arranged to some chaotic semblance of an ordered display.  He could tell there was some method to the madness, but he couldn’t see the pattern.

Jim had run up ahead, wandering wide-eyed about the store, occasionally stopping to stroke an instrument with an almost reverent care.

 _Well, whaddya know?_   He’d only known the kid a month, but he’d never shown any interest in anything even remotely musical.  He hadn’t even joined in on the impromptu karaoke competition last night.  _Note to self:  Keep Sulu away from the microphone_.

Gaila was the same, seeming to almost gravitate towards the pianos and keyboards and otherworldly equivalents.  Himself, well, he was itching for that there drumset.  But it had been years.  He didn’t even know if he could keep a beat anymore.

Jim picked up one of the guitars, picking out a few mournful-sounding chords as he reacquainted himself with his favourite instrument.  Gaila, now sitting over by one of the keyboards, started playing an accompanying melody, the two instruments intertwining their notes as the music danced throughout the room.

“What was that?”  Bones didn’t recognise the tune, but it stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt for a while.  It had been years since he’d done anything musical.  Years.

“It’s called Waltzing Matilda.  It’s an old Australian folk song,” Jim strummed another chord, glancing over at the Orion, “How do you know it, Gaila?”

She shrugged, dancing out an answering melody on the keyboard, “My mum used to play it a lot.  I never knew what it was called though.”

Jim smirked, fingers moving to pluck out a more complicated melody that rose and fell around them,

“ _Once a jolly swagman_

_Camped by a billabong_

_Under the shade of a Coolabah tree_

_And he sang as he watched and waited ‘til his billy boiled_

_You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me_

_Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda_

_You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me_

_And he sang as he watched and waited ‘til his billy boiled_

_You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me”_

The chords grew more mournful as he weaved through the verses, the melody thrumming through them, strings vibrating with pure, chilling emotion as the song wound to its close,

“ _And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong_

_You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.”_

“Wow.”  Course, Georgia had old folk-music like that, but that right there was one of the most simultaneously joyful and mournful songs he’d heard in a while.  Didn’t understand half of the words in it, but the meaning was clear enough.

Jim let out a small laugh, “Yeah, well, how about I see if I can start up a sing-along in the restaurant tonight?  I’m sure if I get up in some corner with a guitar, pretty much the whole bar will join in at some point.”

“It’s that popular, is it?”

“You kidding me?  It was in the running to become the Aussie anthem at one point.”

 

Spock had immediately walked off as soon as they were let loose, setting a quick pace that those unused to the oppressive heat would be able to match.  Luckily for Uhura, she had grown up in the deserts of the United States of Africa, and running in the desert heat was in her blood, even if it wasn’t part of her usual routine.

“Spock!  Wait up!”  The Vulcan made no indication that he had heard her, but his pace slowed slightly, allowing her to catch up.

“Pike said we had to stay in pairs,” she panted as she drew level with him, knowing he loathed to disobey the rules.  But Spock still didn’t speak, his feet leading them toward the outskirts of the small city. 

“Spock?  Are you okay?”  She had initially followed him because this had finally been the perfect opportunity for them to be alone together.  At the StarFleet Academy for New Humans (now colloquially known to them as “Sven” from its acronym “SFANH”), it was almost impossible to be alone.  Chekov and Sulu had found a way, she was pretty certain of that, and Scotty had made his own privacy by commandeering an entire half of the engineering lab, and building a wall around it, but past that, this was the best way of keeping the boy to herself for a few hours. 

But Spock didn’t seem okay.  His nostrils were flared slightly, his posture stiffer than usual, a slight glaze to his eyes telling her that he wasn’t actually paying much attention to the world around him.  Uhura had the gift of language, of understanding any form of communication.  Body language was no different.  It just so happened that when it came to physical communication, Spock whispered while others shouted.  She just had to listen a little more closely.

She kept pace with him until they were past the city’s edge, following the undulating red earth as it lead them away from civilisation.  When they reached a small copse of trees, white trunks stretching into the sky, she reached out, her dark hand gripping his shoulder and bringing him to a halt.

“Spock.”

She stepped around to face him, moving her hand up to his cheek, “Spock.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

He finally lifted his gaze up to her, soft brown eyes meeting midnight black.  He was reluctant to speak, she knew, but the truth wanted to be heard.  He wanted someone to know.  Wanted someone to talk to.

“Spock.”

It didn’t matter whether he was attracted to her or not.  Someone she cared about was in pain.  And she had to help them.

 

His tale ended up taking an entire five hours.  Once he got going, he couldn’t stop.  He told her about the rejection he experienced as a child, even before his powers.  About the way he was ostracised for being too human, too emotional.  His own betrothed had severed their arranged bond, unwilling to be bonded to someone so far from what was perceived as ‘normal’.  He told Uhura everything, from his childhood bullies to the discovery of his powers, from his mother’s love to his father’s coldness, and his eventual death.  The last time his father had spoken to him, it was to extract an emotionless promise that Spock would take care of his mother.  The promise in itself held all the emotion they could let themselves show. 

He told her how it had all become too much to bear.  He could not live with this torment, this rejection, this pain.  So he decided it was illogical to even try.

He had failed his father.  In attempting to end his life, he had willingly rejected his father’s dying words. 

He told her how they had moved to Earth, how he had hoped to start afresh.  The people here were certainly more accepting of him, that was for certain.  But they were also loud, rude, dirty, illogical beings, always talking, always touching.  It was all so different to the quiet peace he was used to, and this cacophony had almost driven him mad.

But he had found a friend in this chaos.

Jim.

The first being outside of his parents to show him pure, unconditional, positive regard.

As Spock talked, voice growing hoarse from use, Uhura slowly realised what this “regard” truly was.  Spock was in love with Jim.  More than that, completely besotted.  He just hadn’t admitted it to himself yet - he _couldn’t_ admit it to himself.  Yet. 

If Spock’s story had told her anything, it was that he wasn’t ready for anything resembling a romantic relationship.  But he had accidentally formed a mental bond with Jim.  Uhura had taken the liberty of studying all she could about Vulcans and Vulcan culture, and she knew that such a bond made the two boys brothers at the very least, married at the very most. 

And the poor boy didn’t have a clue what he had done to Spock.

Not that Jim was guilty of anything - pulling from her own memories of the interactions between the two boys, she knew that Jim knew Spock wasn’t ready for a romantic connection yet, either.  Jim had been Spock’s friend first, despite whatever feelings he might have on top of that.

And now Spock could hardly even look at the boy.

As his story wound to a close, Uhura slipped a gentle arm around the Vulcan’s shoulders, pulling him against her.  She tucked his head under her chin, making sure her shirt separated their skins, leaning against the tree that they had sat under for the majority of the telling. 

No, Spock would never be attracted to her.

But it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that she was here for him.

 

Six o’clock finally rolled around, their empty stomachs beckoning them toward Pike’s restaurant of choice.  For those who hadn’t been able to resist the lure of various delis, fast-food outlets or cafés (all decorated in Easter cheer), it was more the threat of evisceration that brought them back.

“Jim, I really don’t think evisceration is on Pike’s to-do list.”

Jim hoisted his brand-new guitar over to the other shoulder, throwing a grin behind him to Bones, who was burdened with a smallish drumset he’d been pressured into buying.  Damn thing was basically a box on wheels that was slowing him down at the moment, but when Jim found out he used to be a drummer… Well.  From that point on, he didn’t get any choice in the matter.

“Oh, I don’t know.  Verbal evisceration is probably a lot higher on his list than literal, I think.”  Gaila was flouncing (yes, _flouncing_ ) around up ahead, a fancy new, red keyboard dangling from its carry-strap slung across her bright-green back.  She’d actually decided to be a little less garish in her colour choices for the day trip, dressed in a low-backed, red dress that matched her hair, its knee-length skirt flaring loose around her smooth legs.

_Stop it, Leonard.  She’s not into you, remember?_

If he was lucky, Chapel might have saved him a seat.

They found their way into the restaurant by 1815 - not too late, but late enough that they were almost the last ones there.  Only Spock and Uhura were missing.

Sure enough, Chapel had saved Bones a seat, leaving Jim and Gaila to sit over by Scotty, instruments piled in a corner by the table.  Also predictably, Pike was giving them all a look that promised verbal evisceration later.

Spock and Uhura appeared right as the waitress came to take their orders, quickly taking the last two seats under the weight of Pike’s glare.  Their clothes were dusted with red sand, and Uhura’s face was wet with water.

“I trust everyone enjoyed themselves today?”  Pike folded his hands together, resting his chin on them as the table muttered a general affirmation.  The restaurant had put three of their large tables together end to end in order to fit them all, the long row placed towards the back of the dining area.  The heady scents of fresh, hand-made food filled the air around them, making their mouths water - restaurants like this were pretty much the only place nowadays that you could get real, handmade food that didn’t come out of some machine.  No matter how sophisticated the replicators got, no machine could ever cook better than a trained chef. 

The restaurant itself was pretty nice, too - the walls and floor were panelled with a dark faux-wood, imitation halogen lamps filling the space with a yellow glow as the light outside dimmed.  At this time of year, the sun didn’t set for at least another hour, but the long shadows cast by adjacent buildings gave the illusion of dusk. 

“So Monty, what did you get up to today?”

It took Jim a moment to figure out that Gaila was talking to Scotty.  Even the teachers and supervisors called him either Scotty or Mr Scott.  “Monty” was pretty much unheard of.

“Well, I found this little hardware store absolutely filled with the stuff I need to build me a GravSim.  Plus a few other things… What I need is some dilithium though, jus’ a few grams’d do.”

Jim’s face slowly appeared from behind Gaila, eyebrows raised at the man, “Why on Earth do you need to generate artificial gravity?  What are you building down there that no-one’s allowed to see?”

Scotty glanced down at his hands, walking his fingers innocently across the hard surface, “Well, the g-forces generated by high-speed atmospheric travel are significant enough to warrant an artificial gravity generator to counteract it… plus, the thing is vacuum-proof, once it’s finished, we could take it into space if I could just get the dilithium for our engines…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jim leaned across Gaila to grab Scotty by the shoulder, “You’re building a _ship_?”

“Ssshh, keep ya voice down!”  Scotty shrugged Jim off even as Gaila leaned in closer, eyes shining at the possibilities,

“Are you, Monty?  That would be so cool if you were!  But where would you get the dilithium from?  Starfleet’s kinda protective of it, seeing how it stops their starships’ matter-antimatter engines from, you know, _blowing up_.”

“Well, it’s more of a shuttlecraft than a ship.  A stealth shuttle.  Or something.”  Scotty waved his hand, searching for a word, but unable to pluck it from the air around his head.

Their conversation was put on hold by the sudden arrival of food, glorious, unreplicated food, steaming hot off the plates and swimming in juices, sauces or dressings, depending on what they had.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were vegetarian,” Marlie, sitting across from Spock, held up her plate, “So am I!”

“Fascinating.”  Spock’s reply held no emotion, as usual, but his lack of enthusiasm was quite obvious in the way he immediately returned to prodding his sweet potato, a vegetable he had developed a preference for during his time on Earth.

“It’ll be okay, Spock.  Things always get better with time,” Uhura spoke so softly only the Vulcan could hear, bumping her shoulder gently against his in a show of support.  He’d experienced a big catharsis today.  No wonder he was feeling exhausted. 

Back up the other end of the table, Jim was eyeing Chekov and Sulu suspiciously.

“Pavel, what’s in the basket?”

Chekov stared up at him innocently while Sulu smothered his grin with a forkful of food, “Vhat basket?”

“The one under the table.”

“Vhat table?”

Bones, sitting in between Chekov and Chapel, let out an almighty snort, choking on his drink as Chapel thumped him on the back, “Kid… you sure have some sense of humour there,” he rasped finally to Chekov’s raised eyebrow, “So what’s in the basket?”

“Eggs,” the Russian boy smiled innocently at them.

“Eggs?”

“Eggs.”

“Would they, by any chance, be… Easter eggs?”

“Perhaps.”  Chekov couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, grinning at the obvious amusement of his friends.

His friends.

There, at that table that night, was one of the best nights any of them had experienced.  That Easter weekend, they were all surrounded by friends, by people who loved an accepted them as they were, without any need to hide or keep secrets, or be afraid of the consequences of using their powers.

They were free to just be themselves.

 

Late that night, when the group returned to their Academy, they were greeted with a surprise - a new student.

Two Starfleet officers stood on either side of a short, nervous-looking teenager, waiting next to their shuttle for Pike’s return.  The other children were hurried on up to the dormitories, despite their curiosity, leaving Pike and Amanda to greet the child.

“Hello.  My name’s Chris Pike, and this is Amanda Grayson,” Pike leant over a bit to bring himself to her height - he knew she wouldn’t respond well to being talked down to.  He just knew.

“I’m Lily Rose Thompson,” she responded, a small smile dimpling her cheeks as she shook Pike’s hand.

 _Empath_ , his intuition told him, Lily’s eyes widening as the word entered his head, _Make that a telepath too_.

Amanda came forward then to greet the girl, leading her on towards the lift as Pike saw off the officers, “This place is full of people with abilities far beyond those of normal humans.  For example, I can heal others - but I’m not nearly as strong as some of our other healers - and I have limited telekinesis.”  She glanced at the girl out of the corner of her eye, “How about you, Lily?”

“I’m empathic.  I can feel others emotions, and I can hear their thoughts,” she ducked her head nervously, but when Amanda only smiled encouragingly, she dared to continue, “I can also control energy sources.  Like, electricity and heat, and sometimes life energy - though that’s really difficult.”

Amanda nodded her head thoughtfully as the elevator came up to the dormitory level, “Well, we have a few other empaths and telepaths, so you’re not alone there.  Energy manipulation though, that’s really something,” she winked at the teenager as they stepped off the platform, turning to her with a grin.

“It’s time for you to meet your housemates.”

 

It was chaos, to put it mildly.  A month in, and everyone had gotten used to each other; friendships had formed, boundaries had been set, and a routine established.  And now they had another random variable thrown into the equation - a new kid.

But the teenager only had eyes for one person.

“Pavel?!”

“Lily?”

They stared at each other in shock, before stepping forward to give the other a great bear hug.

“I heard you’d gone to a special school, but I didn’t know you were like me!”  Lily Rose stepped back to examine the Russian boy.  She was almost two years older than him, but Pavel had grown a lot recently, making him just the slightest bit taller than her.

“Ha!  I did not know zat you vhere like me eizzer!” the Russian exclaimed with a grin, “Tell me, how are Sorwek and Stonn?”

Her face dropped at the mention of her former foster parents, “They… Pavel, they’re dead.”

Chekov took an involuntary step back, eyes wide, “Dead?  But how?”

“The Mafia, Pavel.  I couldn’t do anything to save them.”  Her voice cracked at the last word, Chekov rushing forward to hold her.  Sorvek had been the _V’tosh Ka’tur_ whose son had taught him so much.  The Vulcan pair had lived just down the road from Chekov’s family home, and the boys had been friends for years, starting the Blue Fedora hacktivist group together with the aid of an American teenager - who had turned out to be none other than James Kirk.

A year and a half ago, riots had broken out in Beijing over the whole Mutant fiasco.  Anyone identified as a “mutant” had become the target of angry lynch mobs.  Hundreds, if not thousands had been killed, but most of them weren’t even New Humans.  Just victims of mistaken identity.

Lily Rose had been living with her foster parents in Beijing at the time, and she was different enough even without her New Human abilities, being a Human/Betazoid hybrid.  But her powers had come out that day, and she had accidentally electrocuted a dozen people before she was able to escape to safety.  After that, she had been shunted off to the next on the list of foster parents - Sorvek.

Chekov sat them down in the living area as he told the others how he knew the girl.  He told them how she had been his neighbour for a year, how they had been friends of a sort.  Sulu looked a bit jealous at that, but Chekov elbowed him in the side before he could comment.  He’d never liked Lily in that way, but she had been a good friend to him while he had known her.

But then Chekov had left for an overseas school, and Lily had started her university courses.  She had no idea about her foster family’s continued attacks on the Russian Mafia - until they had sent assassins to kill them.

“They came in the middle of the night,” she told them, chewing on her lip as she struggled to keep her voice steady, “Men dressed in black, with high-powered phasers.  They killed Sorvek and Stonn, and then they came for me, but I… I killed them instead,” she shuddered, remembering the dark house spattered with red and green blood, like some kind of macabre Christmas.  “I couldn’t save them.  I tried restarting their hearts, keeping them alive until the ambulance got there, but they had lost too much blood.  There… there was nothing I could do.”

All this had happened only yesterday.  While they were all partying and enjoying their new-formed friendships, one of their own kind had almost been killed.  Not two years ago, the Beijing Riots had resulted in the deaths of countless New Humans.  All around the world, their kind was shunned and attacked, never allowed to live a normal life without lying about who they were.  And now there was a group based in London that was rising up against such treatment of New Humans.  But theirs were the actions of terrorists and extremists, not peaceful protesters.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell who were the good guys.  Sometimes, things just aren’t so black and white.

 

***

“Carolyn.”

The man’s deep voice reverberated from the open door, the sky-blue-painted door at the entrance of her ‘temporary accommodation’ that she’d been given during her stay here.  It was nice enough - a comfortable bed, perhaps a little too hard, but then again, far softer than the floor under her bed at her dad’s place.  The floor that she was far better acquainted with.  There was a little circular window just above the headboard, through which the shining lights of London could be seen.  Ten floors up, and far enough back not to be blockaded by dozens of other buildings, central London could be seen in all its modern glory.

It was beautiful.

But it surely wouldn’t last.

They would send her off somewhere else, she just knew it.  This was a place for adults, gearing up for what had the potential to become a bloody revolution.  She was only thirteen and a half, just a kid, a liability.  They’d send her away.

“Carolyn.”

She turned away from the window, light grey eyes avoiding those piercing aquamarine ones.  She didn’t even know who this man was, except that he was the leader of the Brotherhood.  And he had killed her father.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.

Judging by the pain in her chest, and the welling tears in her eyes, it hurt.  She was an orphan now, after all.  Her dad had hated her, sure, but it was a hate rooted in fear.  Fear of what she could do.  What she might become.  She could forgive him for that.

Now that he was dead, she could forgive him for everything.

Even though, at the time, she had hated him in return.

Because she knew what he could do.  What he would do.  What he _did_ do.

And now, he was gone.

“How do you feel?”

For a voice that could speak so passionately with anger, his words were surprisingly soft.  She slowly lifted her gaze up, noting the lack of bloodstained jacket, the strong torso clothed only in a black undershirt, his pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight that trickled through the window behind her.

When she met his eyes, she found only tenderness.  A hint of apology.  No, he didn’t feel guilty for what he had done.  The death of one man, one human man, that didn’t matter to him.  But he was sorry for her loss, sorry for her abuse.  Sorry for her pain.

“I’ll be okay.”  Her voice came out a little hoarse, throat sore from all the tears.  But it was true.  She would be okay.  Eventually.

“I have a proposition for you, if you are willing to hear it.”  The eyes hardened a little, a calculating expression colouring his gaze.  The subtle changes that overcame him in seconds, the swift transformation from concerned adult to analysing soldier - it was almost disconcerting. 

She shrugged, gesturing towards the room’s only chair.  She settled more comfortably on the bed, legs tucked in underneath her, resting back on her feet.

“How would you like to stay on, as a member of the Brotherhood?”  He watched carefully for a reaction, taking in her confused silence, “The people reacted positively to you today.  I believe you would be a great asset to our cause - a spokeswoman, of sorts.  People are more willing to trust an innocent, open face like yours, to empathise with your story.  In return, we would train you, teach you to utilize your abilities at their full potential.”

Carolyn dropped her gaze, turning back to face the window.  It was impossible to tell what was going on inside her head as she considered, weighed the pros and cons of the man’s offer.

In the end, all it came down to was the fact that she didn’t have anywhere else to go.

She met his gaze boldly, that touch of defiance that had kept her chin high during her father’s trial blazing in her eyes.

“I’ll do it.”


	10. Bonfire Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I lifted scenes from a movie. See if you can tell which one, and where the scenes start and end XD Spock!Prime would be shitting himself if he could listen in XD
> 
> Character Ages:
> 
> Jim: 16 and 7 months
> 
> Spock: 15 and 11 months - birthday coming in a few chapters
> 
> Bones: 18 and 2 months - skipped birthday
> 
> Uhura: 16 and 8 months
> 
> Scotty: 18 and 9 months
> 
> Chekov: 14 and 10 months - birthday might end up being after this story ends. We’ll see.
> 
> Sulu: 15 and 7 months
> 
> Gaila: 17 and 3 months - skipped birthday
> 
> Pike: 44
> 
> Amanda: 41
> 
> Timeline: 
> 
> Part 1 (Carolyn) - The morning of… let’s say the 16th of September. (GMT+0:00)
> 
> Part 2 (Crew) - Mid-morning and evening of the 16th (GMT+9:30, so equates to a touch past midnight GMT+0:00 (before Carolyn’s bit), and later, around the time of Carolyn’s midday announcement)
> 
> Part 3 (Carolyn) - Midnight, 17th September (9:30am on the 17th at SFANH)
> 
> Part 4 (Unidentified, San Francisco) - 4:30pm on the 16th of September (GMT-8:00, therefore half an hour after Part 3)
> 
> \---Valkyrie out---

 

**Bonfire Hearts**

 

There was that hint of chill in the air that always came with the start of Autumn, a coolness to the breeze that hadn’t been present during the summer months in England.

Six whole months.  She could hardly believe it.  Six whole months since the Brotherhood had adopted her, and she had become their spokeswoman.  Carolyn had had to mature quickly in this past year, become far more mature than others her age, even more mature than all the other children the Brotherhood had taken into their care. 

It was her fourteenth birthday today.

And the Brotherhood had one hell of a party planned.

Carolyn pulled on her white ankle boots, flicking her long blonde hair out of her eyes.  Her dress had been picked out specifically for this occasion, a floor-length ice-white dress that sparkled with sequins.  They wanted her to be a symbol of purity and innocence in their organisation.

Image was everything.

She tilted her head back, drawing in a deep breath.  She had definitely come a long way in six months.  It felt like only yesterday that she had first shown them her fledgling power.

 

_“I have a proposition for you, if you are willing to hear it,” he had said.  The leader of the Brotherhood had eventually introduced himself to her as John Harrison, but in that moment, all that was on his mind was how he could use her.  Strangely, Carolyn didn’t take any kind of offense at that - she would be using them in return, anyway.  Their goals were her goals.  The humans that had hurt her, and people like her, had to be brought to justice for what they had done, and she finally had the opportunity to do something about it._

_“I’ll do it,” she had replied, ready to take on the world._

_When morning came, he and his “comrades” had taken her with them to an old country mansion, where they had established their headquarters.  There were so many empty rooms in that house when she had first arrived.  They hadn’t stayed empty for long, though._

_There was a large shed in the back field, a training centre where New Humans could hone their abilities.  They had taken her almost directly there, eager to start her training._

_“So.  Show us what you can do.”_

_He looked at her expectantly, standing back at a safe distance.  She couldn’t control her power - not yet.  It took her getting upset or angry or frightened for her abilities to make themselves known._

_She took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves.  It wasn’t fun being put on the spot like this, but at least the only people here were Mr Harrison and his lieutenant, Lara._

_“Take your time.”  Mr Harrison’s voice was soft and reassuring.  Carolyn wondered what his powers were.  What made him special.  She couldn’t even begin to guess what abilities were hidden underneath that unassuming and mercurial exterior._

Concentrate, Carrie _, she told herself, closing her eyes and balling her hands into fists.  She concentrated on that nervous, jittery feeling, that stage fright, balling it up inside her, feeding it until she shook.  It was the only way she knew how to bring her powers to the surface._

_Carolyn slowly opened her eyes, wet with the tears of an induced almost-panic, bringing her shaking hands out in front of her.  Her skin had become wreathed with light, a soft white glow that shone like an aura around her._

_“Turn the lights off,” Mr Harrison ordered his lieutenant, watching at her with that calculating stare that so often coloured his gaze.  The lights went out, darkening the room to a pitch black, except for the few square metres lit up by Carolyn’s dim glow._

_“Can you make it any brighter?”_

_She shrugged, folding her arms nervously across her chest, “Not really.  The more worked up I am about something, the brighter it glows.  I thought for a while it had something to do with my heart rate, or adrenaline, or something.”_

_Mr Harrison nodded thoughtfully, “Perhaps.  These sorts of things do tend to act and react by a person’s emotional state.  We simply have to help you learn to control your abilities consciously.”_

 

That feeble glow had quickly grown into something a lot more useful under the guidance and training of John Harrison’s lieutenants.  Carolyn flicked her wrist, summoning a little orb of light.  She could brighten and dim it, from the light levels of a single candle, to the searing intensity of the sun.  That piece of control hadn’t taken too long to master.  It was the other side of her power that had been more difficult to gain control of.

 

_“Now, I want you to concentrate on sending out a beam of light at the target,” her instructor had told her.  They were focusing on her sharpshooting - seeing how far and how accurately she could send her light, and how bright she could make it glow.  That sort of skill would be invaluable defensively - she could blind her opponents, giving her the opportunity to run, or giving someone else an opportunity to take them out._

_Her thoughts had been turning that way a lot, recently.  She had been training for two months, and in that time an influx of New Humans had arrived at the country mansion, some seeking refuge, some seeking blood, some bloodied themselves.  Other children had been brought into the Brotherhood’s care as well, most of them orphans and runaways that had been rejected for their differences.  Tensions were rising across the world - almost every day, the news was reporting a new horror supposedly committed by New Humankind, or campaigning for their registration and segregation.  Some alien diplomats had tried to defend them - there was even one Vulcan diplomat who proclaimed the illogic of violence against a species for the actions of a few._

_But whoever said humans were logical?_

_Carolyn wanted to help.  Really, properly,_ help _.  She was frustrated that all she could do was talk, read out the speeches handed to her with as much sincerity and passion as she could.  She saw her face on the news, her speeches truncated and twisted in such a way that made it seem like she was being coerced, or like she was just some naïve little child._

Naïve, my ass, _she thought, pouring all her frustration, all her bitter energy into her hand, aimed dead straight at the target a hundred metres away._

Let them burn.

_She released the light, a bolt like a laser burst hurtling towards the target, impacting, sending it up in a ball of fire._

_Carolyn fell to her knees, left weak by that sudden rush of energy that had flown from her.  Harrison, watching on from the sidelines, had rushed towards her with a manic grin plastered across his face._

_“That, my dear, was extraordinary.”_

 

Carolyn got to her feet, checking her room for anything she might have forgotten.  Her bags were packed, already loaded on the private jet.  All her knickknacks and shelves full of books and lightbulbs were gone.  All she had with her was a small bag with a change of clothes and a communicator.  Most of the younger kids that had lived in the country mansion had already been moved to a secure house just outside of New York.  The old Xavier Academy grounds, if she wasn’t mistaken.  Some of the older kids had opted to stay with the main force of the Brotherhood, and had already been moved out of London.  She would be one of the last to go.

Just as she turned to leave, she caught her reflection in the mirror on the wall.  She could hardly recognise herself, with her white-blonde hair loosely curled, her grey eyes framed with silver eyeshadow, that long, ice-white dress conforming to her new shape.  She was fitter and leaner now, and she had grown into a more mature, womanly figure.  Her only jewellery was a lightbulb the size of her thumb threaded onto a silver chain around her neck.  Collecting lightbulbs had become a bit of a hobby for her now, especially since they were rarely made anymore.

She shouldered the bag, and left the room forever.  They couldn’t come back here after tonight - not after her “birthday celebrations”.  Not for a long while, anyway.

Carolyn remembered how she had been so pleased that she could finally contribute to the _actual_ revolution.  She could fight with her newfound incendiary abilities, could actively defend herself and actually do some damage against those who had caused her so much pain.

But that had almost never happened.

 

_“What do you mean I can’t go?  I can fight now!  I can help!”  John Harrison set a quick pace down the corridor, forcing Carolyn to jog to keep up, “I’ve come a long way since I joined you.  I can do some real damage now.”_

_John whirled to a stop, placing his hands on her shoulders, “Yes.  I know you can.  You could set them all on fire, and have them burn to death.  But you are just a child,” he sighed, stepping back, “It’s only been four months.  Maybe I could send an adult in with that much training, but you are still a child - you wouldn’t stand a chance against a human with a phaser.  You’re too valuable to waste on a raid of this scale.”_

_And that was that._

_That was the day they’d assassinated all of the human members of the Federation Council.  The alien members had tried to fight back, but they didn’t stand a chance in one-on-one combat against the superpowered New Humans.  The Starfleet security teams had given them some trouble, though._

_Lara hadn’t come back from that one.  She couldn’t._

_John had just lost his top lieutenant, and this only served to fuel his bloodlust even further.  He hadn’t even bothered to wash the stench of smoke and blood from his hair and clothes before bursting into her room with that crucial question:_

_“What is the largest, most destructive explosion you can generate?”_

They were waiting for her, downstairs.  The cameras and lights were all set up for one last message before the main event.  Carolyn steadied herself against the wall, before stepping fully into the room, heart racing at the thought of what they were about to do.  What _she_ was about to do.  It was all a bit drastic, really. 

But drastic times call for drastic measures.

They all smiled and nodded at her as she came in, all except John, who had that devious glint in his eyes again.  Sometimes, he felt like a father to her and the other children, generous with his time and gentle with his words.  At other times he was like this.  Quiet and deadly.  He would have done well as a villain, she supposed.  Carolyn was just glad that he was on her side, and that she wasn’t part of those who stood in his way, because there was no way of avoiding the fact that the man was just a _little_ bit of a psychopath.

And Carolyn was starting to wonder if she qualified as one as well, given what she was planning to do.

They set her up in front of the camera, the prompt balanced above, just in case she needed it.  Not that she did.  This was her event, and she had written her own speech, practiced for hours in front of the mirror.  She knew what she was doing.  She knew what she had to do.

“There are those of you who think that all of my messages have been a hoax.”  She coughed slightly, clearing her throat, “There are those of you who think I am not doing this of my own will, or that I do not understand what I am saying.

“Well, you’re wrong.  My words are my own, and my actions are not coerced.  I am acting in the name of what I believe in, and in the name of those who suffered at the hands of humankind.  People like me.  Men, women… children.”  She let her eyes shine with tears just a little bit, playing to the emotions of the audience that would listen to this message.

“If you are a New Human, if you have powers and abilities far beyond those around you, then I implore you leave London before midnight tonight.  The same goes for any other non-humans in London.  The Brotherhood has no quarrel with you.  Pack your bags and remove anything you hold dear from the London area.

“As for you humans…”  She paused for a smirk, a classic John Harrison smirk practiced in front of the mirror for days, “Don’t bother trying to run.”

Carolyn hesitated then, biting her lip as a thought crossed her mind.  With a little nod to herself, she deviated slightly from the script,

“The children may leave.  We are not so heartless as you, to condemn children for crimes they hold no responsibility for.  We will ensure their safety, as long as they are out of central London by midnight.  Everyone else - every human, and every non-human or child who chooses to stay… Well.  Their fates are sealed.”

She waited a few seconds, then motioned to the cameraman, ending the recording.  They would broadcast it at midday, giving the citizens of London twelve hours to evacuate.  It would be chaos.  Chances were, the majority of them wouldn’t heed her warning.  But at least her message would save a few of the innocent.  The rest would be mourned appropriately.

“The children may leave?”  John appeared at her shoulder, silent as a shadow.

“Yeah.  I thought, well, they’re kids.”  She shrugged, “Kids can be cruel, but… they can change.  They can learn.”

He nodded, his usually neatly combed black hair falling messily into his eyes.  He needed a haircut.  Or perhaps not.  It suited him, that slightly ruffled look.

“Once again, you show your intelligence.  It is good to have you on the team,” he commented with a light hearted fondness. 

Just as Carolyn had grown and matured over the past six months, John Harrison had changed as well.  His façade had become less cold as the number of children in the house had grown, and it wasn’t unusual to see him with the children, playing games, training or just talking.  It was how he relaxed, she supposed.  All that stress of leading the New Human revolution, of organising strikes and political sabotage.  It was hard on him.  She watched him sometimes, when he thought no one was looking.  His vibrancy faded and his expression grew distant. 

He looked like a man in mourning.

There was a lot of his past that was a mystery to her - a mystery to most people, actually.  One of the more technically gifted kids had tried digging up some information about his past, to no avail.  “John Harrison” hadn’t even existed until seven months ago.  He had appeared out of nowhere, and taken over the Brotherhood, revolutionising their cause and goals.

The way he talked was a bit off as well.  His syntax and vocabulary sometimes slipped into a more archaic dialect, typical of the early twenty-first century.

John Harrison was a puzzle; that much was certain.

 

***

 

“ _Nova to the Captain, can you hear me?  Over_.”

“This is the Captain, I hear you loud and clear, over.”

“ _Wow, I’ve never been able to project over this kind of distance before.  How high up are you?  Over.”_

“About seven kilometres.  I am _so_ glad I brought a jacket.”

“ _Nova, Captain, please keep communications relevant.  Over._ ”

“I thought the point of this exercise was to test the limits of Uhura’s om-com, Spock.  That’s kinda what we’re doing.  _Over_.”

Jim pumped his wings a bit, trying to generate some warmth in the frigid winds.  He didn’t often get the chance to fly this high.  It was so much clearer up here, where the air was thin and the clouds were scarce.

But it was _damn_ cold.

“Alright guys, I’m coming down before my wings get frostbitten, over.”  He angled his wings, pulling them tight against his sides, plunging into freefall.

Down, down, down.  The rushing air pulled at his cheeks, tugged at his clothes, pushing him back as gravity accelerated him towards the ground until he reached terminal velocity.  It was like a rollercoaster, except _so much better_.  The fall was so infinitely long and so achingly short, lasting only for a little over two minutes. 

Jim spread out his wings as far as they could go mere seconds before he splattered against the rocky ground, the sudden increase in drag nearly ripping his wings out of their sockets, tearing a tendon or two as he tumbled to the ground in a cloud of dust.

“ _Keptin, are you alright?  Ve saw you go down wery fast.  Ower._ ”

Jim held his hand up to his ear, activating the little communicator, “Yeah, I’m fine, Pacman.  Just gimme a sec.  Over.”

“ _I still do not agree to zis nickname_.  _Ower_.”

Jim shrugged his shoulders, massaging the tender wing joints as the torn tissues knitted themselves back together, “That’s the thing with callsigns, Pavel - you don’t get to choose them.”

“ _But you guys got to choose_ your _callsigns_.”  You could practically _hear_ the pout over the comm.

In the seven months that they’d been at the New Human Academy, their militarised training regimen had inspired the kids to come up with their own callsigns, code names of a sort.  It was partly for fun, and partly because Pike had suggested it.  For some unknown reason, he thought they might be useful in the future. 

So Jim had kept his old hacking screen name, ‘Captain’.  Chekov’s old screen name had too many syllables to be useful, so ‘Pacman’ had been bestowed upon him as a result of his initials - P.A.C. 

Uhura had gone with ‘Supernova’, which had been shortened to ‘Nova’, and Spock had been christened as ‘Point’, despite Jim’s attempts to change it to ‘Pointy’. 

McCoy had been stuck with ‘Bones’ ever since he’d arrived, so nothing had changed there.  Though they did occasionally refer to him as the ‘Witchdoctor’ as a play on his desire to one day become a doctor.  Sulu had gone with ‘D’Artagnan’, after his favourite musketeer.

Neither Scotty nor Gaila had set code names as of yet.  Though Gaila did get called ‘Greenie’ a lot, just for kicks.

“Where did you guys get to, anyway?  I can’t see you.  Over.”  Jim dusted himself off, scanning the mostly flat desert for any trace of his teammates.  They were on a camping trip, doing survival training and building up their abilities outside of ‘lab conditions’.  The twenty-one kids had been split into three teams of seven, with their team consisting of Jim, Spock, Chekov, Sulu, Scotty, Bones and Uhura.  Gaila had been switched to their group after pestering Amanda half to death, rounding “Team Enterprise” up to an even eight.

The early September heat had begun to sink into the bedrock of Team Enterprise’s plateau, lying between two ridges of the MacDonnell Ranges.  A small billabong burbled its way through the dried-out scrub and desert brush, giving the group just enough water to survive out in the middle of nowhere.

 “ _Gaila and I are just south of camp,_ ” came Uhura’s voice over the comm., “ _Scotty’s rigging us some clean water with Mr Pike, and the rest of the boys are out somewhere west of us._ ”

Uhura’s omnicommunications ability (always shortened to om-com) allowed them to stay in contact over ever-increasing distances, through a kind of technopathic interface with any transmitters or receivers in range.  If it had a microphone or speaker, Uhura could use it.  What made this ability most useful though, was the fact that it was completely untraceable by modern computers - no computers in the 23rd century were equipped to detect the kind of telepathically modulated signal that Uhura projected.

She was Team Enterprise’s communications expert for a reason.

Spock’s voice sounded over the comm., “ _Our coordinates are 23.938016 degrees south, 132.3--_ ”

“Landmarks, Pointy - I’m not a GPS.”

“ _It is illogical for you to refer to me as ‘Pointy’, as my appointed designation is ‘Point’.  We are approximately ten metres south of a large outcropping of rocks that project approximately fifty metres above ground level._ ”

“Yeah, I think I see it.  Thanks, Spock.”

Jim accelerated into a running takeoff, pumping his wings to give shape to the motionless air.  His friendship with Spock had deteriorated since Easter, since that night they had spent outside together.  He had tried to mask the pain of rejection with his physical attraction to Marlie, but there just wasn’t anything she could do to help him.  Not really.

He’d known for a couple of years that his sexual attraction could swing both ways, but he’d only ever been able to feel romantically towards males.  He enjoyed spending time with Marlie, but there was no way he could ever feel for her the way he did for Spock.

But there was no way that Spock could ever feel the same way about him.  Damn Vulcan, denying his emotions.  It wasn’t healthy - after all, Spock was just as much human as he was Vulcan.  Surely that counted for something.

The guy was a lot better now, though.  Uhura and Spock had become almost inseparable.  Not in a romantic way - they both knew that Spock wasn’t ready for that kind of emotional attachment.  But Uhura had helped him come out of his shell, and he was a lot more sociable - hell, a lot more _stable_ \- than he was six months ago.

Jim hadn’t really needed instructions to find the group of boys.  He’d been asking where Uhura was, not Spock.  It was weird how he always seemed to know where Spock was.  It was like he was some kind of damn homing pigeon, except his compass always pointed towards the Vulcan.  And sometimes, despite Spock’s mental barriers, he was able to tell a little of what the guy was feeling.  His empathic abilities didn’t work through mental barriers, not usually.  Spock was an outlier in many respects.

He hadn’t been able to really discuss any of this with anyone.  What would he say?  “I have a compass in my head that always points True Vulcan”.  Yeah, right.  They’d just laugh.  What was he doing, having a crush on an iceblock anyway?  The guy would never be able to reciprocate, so it was pointless.  May as well give up on it.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t deny his heart.

 

The group of boys had reached the base of the rocky outcropping, and were staring up at the naturally forged granite wall.  The rocks and boulders extended for quite a ways around them, but this was the tallest point.  It was midmorning now, the sun well and truly up - even in the shade of the rocks it was stiflingly hot, promising a scorching day ahead.  All around them were the steady drone of cicadas hidden from sight, the occasional screeching cry of a galah settling down as the heat of midday approached.  Every so often, a spider or lizard would streak across the rocks, darting from shadow to shadow, or a snake would rustle past in the underbrush.  If they weren’t careful, one of them could get bitten or stung by something venomous, or they could slip and fall on the rocks.  Fortunately, this wasn’t too much of an issue, as they had McCoy with them, easily able to heal most maladies that could befall them out in the desert.

The purpose of this camping excursion was to test their abilities in the real world, where any form of danger could befall them without warning.  McCoy might have to use his healing powers at any given moment; they could stumble across poachers or other people out in the desert (unlikely as that eventuality was); and apart from that, they needed to have skills that would allow them to survive where others would encounter serious difficulty.  Next week they would embark on a similar excursion to Sydney, Australia’s largest city in both population and area, in order to learn what is required for them to survive unnoticed within a dense metropolis.

“Where did he say he was?”  Sulu shaded his eyes as he searched the sky, looking for Jim’s distinctive bird-with-legs silhouette against the glare of the sun.

“Jim stated that he could see the outcropping of rocks that I described.  He is approaching from the opposite side.”  Spock resisted the urge to look up as Jim’s mind flew closer.  Contrary to convention, the mental link had somehow grown stronger, despite the complete cessation of physical contact between them.  He had no idea how much Jim knew or felt of this bond, but he knew he must have noticed _something_.

But in these six months, he hadn’t said anything about it.  Hadn’t brought it up at all.  Perhaps… perhaps it was only a one-way link.  Perhaps Jim didn’t feel anything.

The bond hummed as Jim shot over the rocks, flaring those magnificent brown-and-gold wings to slow his descent, landing with a jarring impact on one of the more flat boulders.

“Ugh, I need to work on my landings,” the boy laughed as he jumped down, walking with a slight limp towards them before straightening his gait, with Spock’s ankle twinging painfully in response.  He raised an eyebrow, wondering how much the boy had damaged before his regenerative abilities had erased it.  He certainly never showed it - the human was as capable of hiding pain as any Vulcan.

“ _Nova to the boys, is the Captain with you now?  Over_.”  Uhura’s voice buzzed in their ears, and Spock raised a hand to his to answer.

“Affirmative, Nova.  What is your position?”

“ _We’re just on our way over.  Scotty’s done with the water filter, and Mr Pike’s calling in on the other teams.  We’ll be there in thirty minutes or so, over_.”

“Acknowledged.  Spock out.”  He lowered his hand from his ear, the others nodding to indicate they had heard.

“Too bad we don’t have Jack with us.  That’d save us the trouble of trying to start a fire the old-fashioned way tonight,” Jim smirked as he eyed the rocks.  A stray thought drifted across the bond, drawing Spock’s eyes up to the stone as well.  He was thinking of climbing it.  Illogical, as Jim could simply fly up to any point he wished to reach.  Though, perhaps, not quite so illogical if he was having as much trouble controlling his landings as he would have them believe.

“Do ve ewen need a fire?  Ve are already wery varm,” Chekov complained, fanning himself with a small branch he must have picked up at some point.  His discomfort was logical, as Chekov hailed from a place of cold climate.  In contrast, Spock felt perfectly comfortable for the first time in many months, dressed as he was in a thin long-sleeved shirt and long pants.  He usually found himself wearing two layers, three if it was cooler.  Even though they were in one of Earth’s hotter climates, the temperatures still only resembled a cool day on Vulcan.

“I think you’re forgetting how cold it gets at night out in the desert,” Jim bantered, reaching out to test a handhold.  He shuffled his boot into a crack just below waist-height as he searched for a higher handhold, pushing himself up with a lunge towards a rock that projected slightly outwards.

Spock’s eyes drifted from Jim’s reaching hands down to his back, where his wings were stretched out for balance.  One would think that the extra dorsal weight would be counterproductive to rock climbing, but in reality they aided in his balance, holding him steady against the stone.

Spock’s eyes drifted a little further down before he jerked his gaze away, dismissing any unbecoming thoughts with a little shake of his head.

 

By the time Uhura, Gaila and Scotty joined the rest of the group, the boys had all split off into various idle activities.  Sulu was examining the local plant life around them, with Chekov next to him, absent-mindedly drawing in the red dirt with a stick.  Spock was looking up at the tall rocks that loomed over them, and Bones stared up at the same spot with a hand shading his eyes, muttering to himself.  As Uhura drew closer, she began to make out some of his words.

“You’ll have a great time, Bones.  You’ll enjoy this camping trip, you’ll have fun.”  He lowered his hand, shaking his head, “You call this having fun?  I’m a nervous wreck.”  Squinting back up at the rock, he muttered, “If I’m not careful, I’ll end up talking to myself.”

“Leonard?  Are you okay?”  Uhura ducked her head to the side, trying to get his attention.

“What?”  He looked down, only just seeming to notice her.

“You’re kind of talking to yourself,” she grinned.

His eyes drifted back up to the cliff face with a grimace, “Yeah, well.  Let’s just say I have good reason to,” he pointed.

 

Far up above the group, Jim was making a steady pace up the vertical climb.  His hands were covered in that red dust that seemed to make its way into everything out here, though it did help him get a good grip on all the little cracks and ledges.  Free-climbing was so much better than climbing with a harness.  Those harnesses always got in his way anyway, and if he fell…

He paused to have a look around him, admiring the view.  He glanced down at the group below him, judging the distance.  Well, no, he wouldn’t be able to fly away.  He wouldn’t have room to manoeuvre his wings away from the cliff.  Ah well.  What was life without a little excitement?

He turned back to the cliff, searching for his next handhold.  He spied a ledge, just within reach, and he stretched a hand towards it, almost managing to hook his fingers over--

“Greetings, Captain.”

He lost his grip on the ledge, nearly slipping, “Spock!  What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”  No, seriously, why was he up here?  Spock hadn’t given him much attention at all these past few months.  Why suddenly appear out of nowhere when he was obviously trying to concentrate?

The Vulcan cocked his head to the side, translating the phrase into Spock-speak - “I have been monitoring your progress.”

Jim laughed, “I’m flattered.  So much out here to look at, and you pick me.”  It was amusing, really.  Maybe Spock was curious about the concept of rock climbing.  And why illogical humans found it fun.

“There are much simpler and less strenuous methods of scaling this outcropping for one of your abilities.”

Jim gave up on looking for another ledge, glancing over his shoulder at the pesky Vulcan.  “I’m not trying to scale this rock.  Well, I am, but that’s not the point.”  He rubbed an arm across his face, stopping the sweat from dripping into his eyes, “I’m doing this because I enjoy it.  Not to mention the most important reason for climbing a giant rock.”

“And that is?”  You could practically see the cogs turning in Spock’s head as he tried to find a logical ‘most important reason’ for climbing this thing.

He grinned, “Because it’s there.”  He returned to climbing, reaching out again for that handhold he had come so close to gripping.

A small line appeared between Spock’s eyebrows, the closest he’d ever come to a frown, “Jim.  I do not think you realise the gravity of your situation.”

His fingers hooked over the ledge, and he tested his weight on it, carefully levering himself up, but the ledge was too smooth - he slipped, the stone under one of his feet coming loose as well, almost sending him flying off the cliff.

“On the contrary,” he gulped, scrambling for a handhold, “Gravity is foremost on my mind.”  Secure again on the rock face, he turned to glare at the Vulcan, “Look, I’m trying to climb here!  Why don’t you go pester Bones for a while?”

Spock cocked his head to the side, a twinkle of humour showing in his eyes, “I believe that Leonard McCoy is not in the best of moods.”

 

Far below them, Bones was still glaring up at Jim’s risky ascent, muttering to himself.

“Goddamn… irresponsible… playing games with life…”

 

Jim found another handhold, in a slightly awkward position, but steady enough when he tested his weight against it.  He pulled himself up, digging his boot into a crack as he lunged for another handhold slightly further up.

“Concentration is vital.  You must be one with the rock.” 

_What the hell?  What is that supposed to mean?_

“Spock, I appreciate your concern, but if you don’t stop distracting me I’m liable to be one with--”

The ledge underneath him crumbled, Jim scrabbling for a grip against the rock, but he was slipping, slipping.  The weight of his wings dragged him backwards, pulling him away from the cliff, out into empty space.  He was falling, falling too fast to catch himself, there wasn’t enough time.  He was probably yelling out, but he couldn’t hear anything over the rush of wind in his ears.  The ground accelerated towards him at an alarming speed despite his wings flared in an attempt to slow himself down, he was going to hit--

Something jerked him to a stop mere centimetres above the hard rocks below, lifting him up by his ankle.

“Ah?”  He twisted around, trying to see what it was that had a hold on his ankle.

“Perhaps ‘because it is there’ is not sufficient reason for climbing a geological feature.”

Spock had caught him.  The damn Vulcan had caught him.  That was… unexpected, to say the least.  Spock saving his life.  Well, he probably would have been fine, but it was the thought that counted, right?

He cleared his throat, “I am hardly in a position to disagree!”  The adrenalin was still pounding through him, making his voice come out a little broken.

Bones ran up to them, looking very odd from his upside-down frame of reference.  His face was all twisted in something that could have been anger, exasperation, relief, or some combination of the three.

‘Hi Bones!  Mind if we drop in?”  Jim let out a slightly hysterical laugh as Spock lowered him to the ground, where Bones lifted him up with a crushing grip around his shoulders.

“What the hell was that?!  You almost gave me a goddamned heart attack!”

“Relax, Bones,” he eased the teenager’s grip on him, stepping back out of the blast radius.  “I would’ve been fine anyway.”

“Fine?  _Fine?!_   Fine, with your brains splattered against the rocks?  We don’t know the upper limit of your regenerative powers, Jim.  We don’t know if you can heal from something like that!”

“Leonard!  Jim!”  Uhura stepped between them, holding Bones back.  He looked like he was having trouble deciding whether to hug Jim or throttle him.

“ _Pike to Team Enterprise.  You guys should come back to base before you all get heatstroke.  Over._ ”

Uhura raised her hand to her ear, glaring at the boys to ensure they wouldn’t try anything while she was distracted, “Roger that, Mr Pike.  We’ll head back now.  Over.”

“Goddamned birdbrain…”  Bones spat, turning away. 

“The temperature is nowhere near the levels required for a Vulcan to suffer from heatstroke,” Spock murmured almost to himself as they made their way back to camp, Bones still shooting his death glare at Jim every so often.

Jim sighed.  Pissed-off Bones was _not_ something he wanted to endure again.

 

Hours later, the sun had set, and dinner was on the boil.  As predicted, the temperature had well and truly plummeted not long after dusk, and they all huddled close together by the campfire.  Bones was stirring something in a pot, lifting up a spoonful to taste before muttering something, and pouring a little more of some liquid from a flask into the concoction before taking a swig himself.  The others were watching him with varying levels of anticipation; when Bones had insisted on cooking them dinner over a real campfire, most of them didn’t know what to expect.  Bones had never showed any interest in cooking back at the Academy, and he didn’t really seem like the cooking type.  All the same, no one else felt like cooking, so Bones had jumped into the chore with a concerning amount of glee.

“Come and get it!” he yelled out, rocking back on his heels and falling back with a hiccough, “Come and get it!”

“Bones!  Bones, knock it off, we’re right here!”  Jim waved him down, shushing him.  He had his suspicions of what was in that flask, and when he came close enough to smell Bones’ breath, he shook his head in exasperation.  Of course.

Now that the pot was unguarded (Bones had been particularly secretive about his recipe), Spock leant over it, examining its contents, “Bi-podal seeds, McCoy?”

“Beans, Spock,” Bones pointed a finger at him, as if that distinction had the potential to be life-changing, “But no ordinary beans.  These are from an old Southern recipe handed down to me by my father.”  He sat forward again, ladling out a serving into a bowl, passing it around, “And if you stick your Vulcan nose up at these, you’re not only insulting me, but generations of McCoys.”

Spock eyed the beans suspiciously, “In that case, I have little choice but to sample your beans,” he commented, measuring out a spoonful as Jim almost choked on his mouthful at the unintended double entendre.  Spock’s dark eyes flittered up at the noise, but any question over his amusement was quickly put aside as the Vulcan considered the unusual taste, “Surprisingly good,” he acknowledged reluctantly, “It does have a flavouring I am not familiar with.”

“Aha!”  Bones flung out an arm, almost whacking Scotty in the head, “That’s the secret ingredient!”

Jim laughed, elbowing Bones in the side, “Yeah, you got any more of that _secret ingredient_ , Bones?”

The man swung his head around dramatically, eyeing him with a scrutinising gaze before pulling out the flask, “Be my guest,” he gently lobbed it over.

“Thankyou,” Jim smirked, taking a swig.  Across the circle from them, Pike raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.  Drinking had been carefully moderated at the school, Pike being a firm believer in teaching the kids responsible drinking habits (apart from that one night back at Easter… But that hadn’t turned out too disastrously).  He believed that if you give the kids alcohol, then they won’t have to go behind your back to get it; and if you’re the one supplying it, you’re able to moderate and regulate their consumption.

Obviously he had miscalculated slightly with Leonard, who was now passing around what looked like a flask of whiskey.  The teenager had recently turned eighteen, so it wasn’t as if he was breaking any laws.  In the Federation, the legal age for drinking was sixteen for humans, but most places wouldn’t sell to kids under eighteen.

The flask made its way around to Spock, who sniffed its contents suspiciously, “Am I to understand that your secret ingredient is alcohol?”

“Whiskey,” Bones enunciated, gesturing with a spoon, “Tennassee whiskey, Spock.  Do you care for a little snort?”

Jim leaned back with a grin, shaking out his wings, “Bourbon and beans, an explosive combination.  Do you think Spock can handle it?”

The man snorted, leaning over his bowl as he laughed, “Are you kidding?  With that Vulcan metabolism, he could eat a bowl of termites and it wouldn’t bother him!”

Spock seemed determined to ignore the drunkard, glaring at his beans with a single minded concentration.  Uhura, sitting next to him, glanced over concernedly.  She drew breath to say something, but then released it as a sigh, changing her mind.

Bones had calmed down by this point, weighing the nearly-empty flask in his hand with a sombre expression, “You know, you two could drive a man to drink.”

Jim slapped a hand to his chest, feigning hurt, “Me?  What did I do?”

Bones turned to him with a grimace, “ _What did you do_?  You really piss me off, Jim,” he spat.  “Human life is far too precious to risk on crazy stunts.  Maybe it didn’t cross that macho mind of yours, but you should’ve been killed when you fell off that rock.”  He had thrown his arms into the air with exasperation, then folding them across his chest.

Jim stared into his beans soberly, a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth, “It crossed my mind,” he admitted reluctantly, appetite gone.  The others around them shifted uncomfortably, not sure whether they should be listening in on what felt like a heartfelt conversation.

“And?”  Bones prompted him to continue.

He sucked in a breath, meeting the man’s gaze, “And even as I fell, I knew that I wouldn’t die.”

“Oh?”  Bones raised an eyebrow, replying sarcastically, “You’ve done this before, then?”

“Oh no, it isn’t that,” Jim shook his head, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to put it into words.  How _do_ you put something like that into words?

“I knew I wouldn’t die, because the lot of you were with me,” he nodded to the circle.  Pike looked like he wanted to interrupt, obviously alarmed at this apparently life-threatening incident, but not wanting to disturb the boys’ heart-to-heart.

Spock set his empty bowl aside, a puzzled frown crossing his features, “I do not understand.”  For the first time that night, Jim turned his attention fully to Spock, giving him a little half-shrug.

“I’ve always known… I’ll die alone,” he admitted.  It was true.  He’d been on the verge of death a number of times (especially before his regenerative abilities had come to the fore), but every time, there was someone there to help him.  He wasn’t a big believer in fate or a predetermined future, but he just knew that the one time there was no one there to help him… that would be it.  He would die alone.

Bones shifted uncomfortably beside him, offering him the last of the whiskey as he said, “Well… I’ll call Valhalla and have ‘em reserve a room for you.”

Jim pushed the flask away, no longer in a mood to drink.  The circle fell into an uncomfortable silence, their minds turned toward more morbid thoughts.  Uhura was thinking of Spock’s thankfully unsuccessful attempts to end his life.  He hadn’t tried again (to her knowledge) since she had become the Vulcan equivalent of a shoulder to cry on.  Though she had almost needed to get a degree in psychology in order to do it.  The guy had issues.

Chris Pike was mulling over that uneasy feeling he had been getting for the past week.  There was something not quite right, something he couldn’t quite see.  The knowledge had settled itself deep in his gut, like that rotten fish at a supposedly fancy restaurant a few years back, making him queasy without quite knowing why.  He could feel something coming.  He just didn’t know what.

If any of them with the ability to do so had decided to read Scotty’s mind at that moment, they would have been surprised at what they found.  Despite the bluster and technobabble he usually threw their way, he did think of other things besides transporter mechanics and warp coils.  The sombre turn of the conversation had reminded him of his old grandpa, who had died alone after deciding to go trekking through the mountains by himself.  He must’ve laid there for hours before the rescue team had managed to find his body.  Surrounded by rock as he was, there wasn’t any way to get a transporter lock on him.  No way to beam him out. 

That was one reason why he was so obsessed with transporters.  If their range had been a little better, their ability to get a signal lock through rock and trees… well.  His grandpa might still be alive today.

 

Unaffected by the illogical notion of ‘atmosphere’ when applied to the average emotional state of the humans around him, Spock took advantage of the sudden silence to bring forth a new point of interest for the conversation to centre around.  The silence did not bother him - rather, he preferred it - but Nyota had informed him that most humans found silence to be sub-optimal in social situations.

Using his telekinesis - he had been encouraged over the past seven-point-two months to gain the same level of dexterity with his telekinetic abilities as he employed with his fingers - Spock retrieved a small container from his satchel, along with a packet of skewers.  He removed one of the pliable white sweets from the container, threading it onto the skewer before holding it out over the flames as per his research.

Across the circle, Jim watched him with an expression that most likely indicated a level of incredulity towards him, “What are you doing?”

The cause and purpose of his actions were quite obvious, if his research was correct in indicating that this was a common practice among humans in such situations.

“I am toasting a marsh melon,” he informed the boy.  Beside him, Uhura choked slightly on her water, holding a hand to her sternum as she cleared her throat, Chekov next to her performing an exaggeration of her actions.  The boy looked over at Sulu, sharing an amused grin with him.  The Orion was watching him with an expression that indicated she was attempting to decide whether to be entertained or concerned.  No doubt because he had not displayed any desire to participate in the customs associated with ‘camping out’.

McCoy cocked his head precisely twelve degrees to the left, an odd smile leaving his features uncharacteristically serene, “Well I’ll be damned,” he spoke in a dazed tone, “A marsh melon.  Where’d you learn to do that?”

His words suggested a certain level of disbelief over Spock’s ability to toast marsh melons.  The process was simple, only requiring one to suspend the morsel over a heat source until it was adequately liquefied inside, and browned on the outside without becoming burnt.

Spock did not feel insulted by the insinuation.  That would have been poor form, to allow such an emotional reaction to the man’s words.

“Before leaving the Academy, I consulted the computer library to familiarise myself with the customs associated with ‘camping out’,” he informed the group in general, as all seemed to be waiting for his response.

Sulu leant forward from his position on the ground, lying prone on his stomach, “So tell me, Spock,” he started with a grin, glancing at Chekov before continuing, “What do we do after we toast the marsh… ah, marsh melons?”

The pause in his speech was illogical.  By stopping in the middle of a noun, he indicated that his mind was not working at optimal levels.  Perhaps it would be logical for the humans to retire soon, if their minds were becoming affected by a lack of sleep.

In addition to that, the answer to his question was obvious.  “We consume them.”  He demonstrated by sliding the sweet off the skewer (using his telekinesis, of course; it would be illogical to dirty his hands while other means were available to him), and placing it in his mouth.

The flavour was fascinating.  He had never sampled a food that contained so much sugar, and as such, the sudden burst of sweetness on his tongue was distracting, if not unexpected.

It was delicious.

But Sulu was still speaking, “I know we consume them.  I mean after that,” he grinned again.  Spock concluded from his words that Sulu was not ignorant of the customs he was requesting information on; rather, he was testing the depth and range of Spock’s knowledge. 

And unexpectedly logical action.

Spock considered what he had researched, concluding from their current positions seated around the fire, and the progression of their activities - after dinner, yet before sleep - he concluded the best answer to Sulu’s query.

“I believe we are required to engage in a ritual known as the ‘sing along’,” he provided, handing the marsh melons and skewers to Nyota by means of sharing with the group - another custom associated with, though not confined to, camping out.

Jim leaned back against a nearby Gum Tree, mirth clear in his voice, “That’s great!  I haven’t sung around the campfire since I was a little boy in Iowa.  What’re we gonna sing?  What--”  He interrupted himself, turning to McCoy, “Bones, what’re we gonna sing?”

“How about Countdown Races?”  McCoy rubbed his chin in thought.

Mr Pike leant forward, speaking up, “Pack Up Your Troubles?”  Though he posed it as a question, the words suggested that action needed to be taken.

“Are we leaving, sir?”

McCoy interjected before Mr Pike had a chance to reply, “It’s the song title, Spock,” he grumbled.

Scott threw his own suggestion into the sudden buzz of song titles, “Moon over Rigel Seven?”

So far, all of the songs put forward had nonsensical titles that consisted of sentence fragments.  There was no equivalent to these simple songs that existed on Vulcan, but his research had brought to his attention two of the seven songs that had been suggested so far.

Next to him, Nyota offered her own, “Row Row Row Your Boat?”

Spock wasn’t even going to comment on the illogicality and redundancy of that title.

Jim yelled out in response, “Row Row Row Your Boat!  I love Row Row--” again, he interrupted himself, turning his attention to Spock, “Do you know Row Row Row Your Boat?”

Despite still trying to locate any logic in the title, Spock felt obliged to respond, “That song did not come up in my research.”  No wonder, as his research into songs had not extended very far, for a number of reasons.

Jim continued, “The lyrics are very simple,” the boy assured him, clearing his throat,

“ _Row, row, row your boat,_

“ _Gently down the stream._

“ _Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,_

“ _Life is but a dream._ ”

He grinned at Spock, as if waiting for some kind of response.  When all he received was a raised eyebrow, his smile faltered by zero-point-five degrees, but he compensated by turning to McCoy with a forced energy, “Bones and I will start it up, and then you and the others can jump in when we give the signal,” he suggested, a wing stretched around the indicated man, “Bones, if you please.”

McCoy cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow of his own, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, despite not actually having warned them of anything at all.

Kirk and McCoy started together, singing their way through the first line, “ _Row, row, row your boat,_ ” continuing on to the second, “ _Gently down the stream_ ,” as Gaila, Scott and Mr Pike started from the start, the melody overlapping in a not unpleasant manner. 

Chekov and Sulu joined in for the third line, starting again from the start of the verse, before Jim and McCoy reached the fourth line, and Nyota began to sing.

Spock remained silent.

The singing stuttered to a halt, everyone’s eyes on Spock.

“Spock?  Why didn’t you join in?”  Jim looked more like he was concerned for Spock’s health than his lack of participation.  A sentiment more appropriately expressed toward the actual participants of what Spock had identified as a ‘round’, given the verse’s inherent nonsensicality. 

“I was trying to comprehend the meaning of the words,” he responded.  It wasn’t a lie; just not the thought foremost at his mind.

“It’s a song, you green-blooded Vulcan,” McCoy growled, demonstrating his uncanny ability to state the obvious and commonly known, “You sing it.  The words aren’t important - what’s important is that you have a good time singing it.”

“Oh.  I am sorry, Leonard,” Spock offered the required apology at his misinterpretation of what was expected of him.  He cocked his head slightly as a new thought occurred to him, “Were we having a good time?”

It was a reasonable question.  The parameters for what was considered a ‘good time’ were unclear at best.  It required an emotional response that he was not willing to give, and a level of social perceptivity that he hadn’t quite attained yet.

McCoy, however, responded as though this query was entirely _un_ reasonable, throwing his hands in the air with a frustrated growl, “God, I liked him better _before_ he started trying to be a social butterfly.” 

Mr Pike interjected before anything more could be said, “Alright, alright, let’s call it a night, shall we?”

Spock was tempted to point out that the time of day was at a point that would normally be termed ‘night’, whether or not they decided to call it such.  But the other teenagers’ response to Mr Pike’s suggestion was to start moving towards the tents, thus leading him to believe the man had used yet another of Earth’s seemingly endless colloquial phrases.

Perhaps sleep was a logical activity for Spock to participate in also.  His thoughts were running rampant, segueing from topic to topic with the slightest stimulus.

As silence descended upon the campsite, and everyone crawled into their blankets, Spock gave the mental bond a gentle nudge.  Despite Jim’s enthusiasm over the ‘sing-along’, the muted quality of his thoughts suggested that his mind still dwelled upon the earlier topic of death.

It had been five-point-two-one standard months since Spock had last attempted to end his life. 

Not that anyone knew - to their knowledge, and even then only to the knowledge of a few, his last attempt had been during the human holiday of Easter back in March.

Spock had always been mildly dubious about the concept of ‘destiny’.  His father however, had let the concept influence the way he thought and acted through most of his life.  Destiny was not an entirely illogical concept.  It merely took into view the philosophical subjects of predetermination as opposed to self-determination.  A preordained logic to the universe, versus the chaos of free will and random chance.

But as he sat out there on that cliff, the icy wind exploiting the flaws in his jacket, reminding him that colder weather was approaching, he had contemplated many things.  Not the least of which had been his outlook on life, and why he found it necessary to cease living.

Perhaps a certain level of precognition was inherent amongst a number of those with an active X-gene.  Perhaps his telepathic abilities had subconsciously derived something from Mr Pike’s precognition.  Or perhaps, he had truly started to believe in destiny.

Because, however illogically, Spock knew that he would also die alone.

 

***

 

The armoured vehicle vibrated as it made its way to the city centre, jostling Carolyn against John and Kayla.  It was dark in the back, but she didn’t make any move to illuminate the space; she needed to conserve her energy.

The armoured vehicle was unplanned, but given how the populace had reacted to her message, it was entirely necessary.  There had been a small-scale exodus of perhaps twenty thousand people leaving the city, but the vast majority had stayed, trusting in their protectors.  Starfleet had intervened in these affairs of local security, but even they had only sent down a small contingent of security personnel in order to combat what was seen as a ‘minor terrorist threat’.

_We’ll see about ‘minor’_.  Carolyn checked her watch for the umpteenth time as the truck trundled to a halt.  23:45 - fifteen minutes.

Beside her, John closed his eyes briefly, lifting a hand to his temple.  He nodded to himself, turning to her and Kayla.

“Five minutes.  The advance team met with some resistance.”

The two women nodded back, Carolyn chewing on her lip as the vehicle started moving again.  She hoped the team’s teleporter wasn’t injured in the scuffle.  Without him, they had no way to escape in time to avoid her part of the plan.

Destiny was a funny thing.  If someone had told her a year ago that she was going to be here tonight, planning to do this… she wouldn’t have believed them.  No, she would have laughed in their faces.  Her?  An integral member of the Brotherhood, an organisation regarded as an extremist faction by the majority of humankind?  Unthinkable.

And yet, here she was.

Ready to take on the world.

The truck slowed to a halt for the final time, their driver climbing out and moving around to open the doors.  Harry’s usually friendly demeanour had disappeared, replaced with eyebrows pinched into a frown, his mouth set in a hard line.  He didn’t entirely agree with what they were about to do, but he was a loyal friend.  He would stand by them.

The night outside was brightly lit, the light pollution drowning out any chance of seeing the stars.  That chilled September breeze blew past again, chasing the scattered clouds across the sky to reveal an almost-full moon. 

They were at one end of the old Westminster Bridge, with Big Ben looming high above them.  Its ancient hands ticked one minute closer to midnight as Carolyn jumped to the ground, Kayla throwing up a forcefield as they took in their surroundings.  The Starfleet officers were regrouping behind temporary barricades, the advance team jogging over to meet them as the two groups experienced a momentary ceasefire.

“Your duty has been completed, gentlemen and women,” John nodded to the group.  The teleporter instructed the team to hold on to eachother as they prepared to remove themselves from the area.  John inclined his head towards Harry, indicating he should join them.  With a ripple of light, and a crack like an archaic gunshot as the air rushed into the vacated space, the team was gone.

Kayla expanded her forcefield, giving Carolyn space to concentrate.  The woman kept a careful watch on the Starfleet security team, just daring them to try something. 

“Are you ready?”  A warm hand gripped her shoulder gently, turning her around.  She nodded without hesitation, drawing in a deep breath before slowly releasing it.

“You should stand over with Kayla,” she told him with a small smile, patting his hand.  He squeezed her shoulder one last time, before moving over to stand with Kayla, ten metres away.

“There will be about half a second between when I drop the field around us, and raise one over Harrison and myself,” Kayla informed her, flicking her short, jet-black hair out of her eyes.  She could generate the strongest forcefield out of anyone they had encountered.  They were mostly certain she would be able to hold up against Carolyn’s onslaught - otherwise, the girl would be left unguarded and alone. 

Kayla knew the stakes.

She was prepared.

As the clock ticked inexorably towards midnight, and the humans prepared for their final assault, the lyrics of an old Earth song drifted through Carolyn’s head.

 

_When the light’s turning down, they don’t know what they heard_

 

She closed her eyes, focusing on the energy pulsating around her, pulling it in.  One by one, the city lights along the bank of the Thames blinked out as she drew in their electromagnetic potential, absorbing their light and power.

 

_Strike the match, play it loud, giving love to the world_

 

She half opened her eyes, looking down at her body.  Her skin blazed with starlight, glowing through the white dress, lighting her up like an angel.  _Giving love to the world_.  Yes - by taking away those who sought to inspire chaos and anguish, she was doing the world a favour.  She was helping her fellow New Humans.  She was doing this for them.

 

_We’ll be raising our hands, shining up to the sky_

 

Carolyn slowly lifted her hands up, up above her head, palms shining like spotlights into the sky.  With the city lights winking out of existence, the stars were fading in, glowing brighter against the midnight velvet backdrop.  High above, the moon had reached its zenith, adding its own light to the empty streets around her. 

 

_‘Cause we got the fire, fire, fire_

 

The clock struck twelve, Carolyn’s eyes falling closed in concentration, lowering her head to her chest, lifting herself onto her toes.  The Starfleet officers were lining up their shots, knowing something was about to happen - but no idea what. 

They would only have one chance at this.

 

_Yeah, we got the fire, fire, fire_

 

With her hands stretched above her, her skin glowing brighter and brighter and brighter, the energy inside her coiling tighter and tighter, the only thought in Carolyn’s mind was of her mother - murdered by those who called her a _mutant_ , making her bleed and suffer and _beg_.

_No more_.

 

_And we’re gonna let it burn_

 

The forcefield dropped on the twelfth toll of the clock, and the officers fired their shots, burning her leg, sending her to her knees, but it was too late to stop her.

She threw her head back, pushing out the energy like a tidal wave, releasing that coiled power with the force of a thermonuclear detonation. 

A dome of fire and light expanded outwards at exponential speeds, hungry tendrils of flame reaching out and up, incinerating everything in their wake.  The pavement cracked and boiled, the trees turned to ash, and the old clock crumbled down to its foundations, stones and mortar flung outwards with the sheer force of the shockwave.  Westminster Abbey was decimated, and behind her the bridge collapsed into the water even as it boiled in the heat. 

The wave spread out and out, onwards and upwards, expanding for kilometres in every direction, killing the thousands, the millions that crowded on the streets and in the shops, who slept peacefully in their beds or roamed the darkened alleyways.

Those alleyways, those old streets and roads, those ancient buildings that had stood for over a thousand years stood no chance against Carolyn’s onslaught.  They crumbled into ash and dust, all their history and knowledge gone forever. 

Some buildings had survived through everything that was thrown at them, through the wars and bombings and civil unrest, through changes in politics and inhabitants.  Through all the hundreds of years they had stood tall and strong against the world.

_Dust_.

The people, the humans, the aliens, the men, women and children, all those who didn’t heed her warning, all of their hopes and dreams and aspirations, all of their good and evil, all of their love and hatred… gone.

_Ashes_.

The dome spread out and out, leaving nothing but smoking ruin in its wake.  Ever so slowly, it started to fade, the firestorm flickering out five kilometres away from the epicentre, while the shockwave continued on, its sound and pressure felt almost to the ocean to the east and south.

Surrounded by blackened char and rubble, her pure while dress smudged black with smoke and ash, Carolyn let her arms drop.

She swayed, taking a step forward, only to stumble and fall. 

She didn’t have the energy left to raise her hands, to stop herself from hitting the ground.  But she didn’t have to.  Strong arms caught her, lifting her up, holding her by the torso and legs as her head flopped against his chest.

“Well done, my dear.”  John Harrison’s soft words were the last thing she heard before her eyes drifted shut, blackness consuming her.

Darkness was a relief after all that light.

 

***

 

“Have you managed to get in contact with the security team?”

“ _Negative, sir.  Their signal cut out right after the explosion.  Nothing left to contact._ ”

The man sighed, reaching for the box of cigarettes.  It was a dirty habit, but when you were a Starfleet Admiral one could be excused for the occasional comfort.

“And you’re telling me that one little girl did that to one of Earth’s - hell, one of the _Federation’s_ largest cities?”

“ _We’ve managed to pull up some files on her, sir.  Carolyn Marie Hemmingway, now fourteen years of age.  Mother, Zhang Li Hemmingway, killed in the Beijing Riots two years ago.  Father, Tyler George Hemmingway, body discovered under suspicious circumstances in London six months ago, with a crushed cranium.”_

The Admiral winced at the description, well-practiced fingers coaxing up a flame from the antique lighter. 

“If a little girl can manage to nuke a major city, then just imagine what an adult could do,” he exhaled a big cloud of smoke, tendrils of ice working their way down his spine at the very thought.  “These people, these New Humans.  How many of them are there?”

“ _Unknown, sir, but there are currently two-point-three million New Humans listed as such on their medical records._ ”

The Admiral rubbed a hand across his face, a jerky, frantic motion that betrayed his fear of what could happen if these terrorists were allowed to keep on living without regulation.

“Have the mutants at the Australian academy got wind of this?  Have they showed any kind of violent behaviour?”

The man at the other end of the line didn’t comment at the change in noun, bringing up the relevant files on his screen, “ _Negative, sir.  They are currently involved in outdoor training exercises_.”

“It’s too dangerous to let them continue.  Imagine what they could do with the training we’ve given them.”  The Admiral gulped, taking in another long draught from the cigarette, “Commander…”

“ _Yes, sir?_ ”

“I’m ordering you to terminate the New Human Academy Program.  Forcibly.”

“ _Understood, sir._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge explosions: A mandatory part of every story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not claim to know jack shit about London. I used Google Maps and a thing that maps out the destructive radius of a nuke (http://meyerweb.com/eric/tools/gmap/hydesim.html at 1000KT) (yes, Carolyn detonates with the force of a 1 Megaton nuke.)
> 
> Neither do I know jack shit about smoking. I assume that what I wrote is how it’s done.
> 
> Also yes, Zhang Li Hemmingway. Carolyn has been Eurasian this entire time.


End file.
